


Falling Through Time: Book 2: Basking in Firelight

by My_Dear_Hammy



Series: Falling Through Time [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Cold blooded Murder, Death, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gayness, Like, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Plot Twists, Rebuilding, Redemption, Self-Sacrifice, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicide Attempts, Tanks in hotel basements, Thomas the duel wielding god, War, and his boyfriend, battles, fear him, injuries, lots of death, mental issues, mortal injuries, people get shot okay, seriously, they have no fucks left to give, they will slaughter you, this is war, torture yeeee, y'all will lose your souls, yessssssss, you'll love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:53:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 76
Words: 125,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Dear_Hammy/pseuds/My_Dear_Hammy
Summary: THE LONG AWAITED SEQUEL TO BASKING IN CANDLELIGHTHERE IT ISJefferson and Hamilton are the key people involving a revolutionary civil war of the United States. Placed many years in the future. They don't remember anything of their past lives during the American Revolution and the framing of the Constitution but find themselves once again butting heads while trying to form a nation. Hang on! This is going to be a long one.





	1. In the Flames

 

_You never read that book_

_Read that book_

_-keep going_

_-this nation needs you_

_Mon amour_

_Mon coeur_

_Mon_ _Alexandre_

Hamilton's eyes snapped open.

The room was black, not even the ceiling could be seen, but that was normal. He rolled over and met the blinding glare of his alarm clock, blinking away the blurriness until he could actually read the large numbers. 5:45 am. Hamilton groaned, he slept in.

Rubbing his hands against his face, he could feel the prickle of his facial hair. He needed to trim it up. Hamilton threw back the covers and launched from his bed, starting the day off as he always did, as fast as possible.

He dressed practically, ready for anything, whether it be getting stranded or having to give an on the spot speech, which was known to happen to him.

Anything could happen.

These days, stepping outside your door was a risk, especially if your name was known, or worse yet, your beliefs. Mobs had a lot of fun with people who's ideals didn't align with their own. Having your name and opinions known was almost a death sentence these days. Hamilton had both. Most people knew his name from the pamphlets he always published. Sure, he wrote under pseudonyms, but there were always people who could figure out who you were just by the style of writing.

He hated those people.

The nation was in a rocky place. The slightest thing could send them back into the collapse they just came out of. Civil war is not a pretty thing.

Somehow, Hamilton survived to see the majority of the fighting come to an end. But there was still the matter of rebuilding. Everything the nation had been built on, the virtues, the morals, the rights, all of it, had been washed away. They no longer had any foundation, they had to start over.

It reminded Hamilton strongly of the American Revolution. A group of people grew into a mass, into a population, into a nation that fought for everything they had now, or at least, had several years ago. It was all gone now.

Hamilton planned on building it back up and nowhere near what it had once been. Better. Stronger. More unified. The government needed a strong central  power. Too much power to the people and everything would fall apart. Start the whole mess all over again.

And his pamphlets said just that.

Of course, it wasn't an opinion deemed acceptable. They just came out of a war and he wanted to launch them back into one.

But more people supported it than most would think. They tended to stick to the shadows, not brave enough to step forward and call for what they want. Hamilton aimed to rile them up and gain support for his new government ideas. Luckily, he was good with a pen.

Unluckily, so was his rival.

Known only to Hamilton as T. J., he was almost the exact opposite of Hamilton views. And where Hamilton could write for pages and pages about a subject, T.J. could say what he intended in a short essay, written eloquently and easily.

Hamilton hated him with a passion.

Not terribly long ago, maybe a year, Hamilton lost track, he and T. J. found themselves in a pamphlet war. T.J. wrote under his abbreviated name whereas Hamilton wrote under his pseudonym, Publius. Just the thought of the guy got Hamilton's blood boiling. And even more so since he couldn't figure out who the author was. There were just too many T. J.s in the world. It was nearly impossible, especially since tracking people became difficult ever since the war. People could disappear extremely easily, suddenly, not even the government could track them. Then again, there really wasn't much of a government anymore. It kinda fell apart during the war and now there was this large power struggle between the two sides. Hamilton being on one of them. People were waiting to see who would be standing after the dust cleared and who would be shot.

Hamilton swung open the door, concealing his face until he was several miles away from his house. He didn't want to wake up every morning to mobs banging on his door, so he met them in the park instead. Hamilton always took a morning walk there and people had caught on. They were always waiting for him, either to shout support or scream how they wanted to rip him apart.

Today happened to be the former, luckily for him.

There was something Hamilton wasn't looking forward to; having to travel from his home in New York to the capital. Washington D.C. Which was pretty much Virginia. Hamilton did not like Virginia.

***

Jefferson's cane clacked against the sidewalk, interspersed between his footsteps. It was such a lovely morning, for once, he hadn't walked out his door and found a dead guy. That was never an enjoyable thing to wake up to. At least the Virginia air was cool and crisp today, as it usually was when Winter's approaching.

And just like always, there was a crowd following tentatively behind him, whispering amongst themselves. There were always people following him these days, he was a symbol, an icon to the people. That's what happens when you help start a war. Jefferson was glad it was finally over.

But the real work was just beginning.

It all started years ago. The people were chaffing under the government that had been steadily growing more and more powerful. A group of people managed to get elected at the same time and they slowly managed to turn the democratic-republic nation into an oligarchy, where a group of people ruled according to their own desires. The nation became quickly oppressed. People's right were being taken away left and right. Try to be your own person? Not even in the cards. Gay? Lesbian? Ace? Bi? Claim to be any sexuality other than straight and you would disappear in the middle of the night from your own home. Only two genders, male and female, anything else and poof. No one ever heard from you again. Not to mention the curfews and the laws that were passed as well. 

Basically, anything that shouted you were your own person was illegal.

It was only a matter of time before the people finally retaliated. It started with rallies that were broken up by force, causing casualties. News channels were all under government influence, so people read the paper instead. That's how Publius came to be known. He published pamphlets and essays calling for war against the government.

As much as Jefferson hated the government, Publius was wrong to say such things. How he was going about, calling for war, it would end in nothing but bloodshed and anarchy. It would become mob rule, where innocents would be walking down the street, run into a mob, and be found the next morning covered in tar and feathers. A painful way to die.

So, Jefferson picked up a pen and called Publius out. That's how the pamphlet war between T. J. and Publius came to be. It still went on today, even after the war ended. It seemed that between the two of them, there was always something to argue about, and the people hung onto every word. Of one didn't agree with Publius, they were siding with Jefferson, at least, on their side of the conflict. There were people that disagreed with both of them. But it was more typical for them to read every letter fervently.

Just as every eye clung to Jefferson as he strutted down the street. It was only natural. People tended to dress like they could be thrown into a battle any second, weapons homemade or not, were strapped or hidden under clothes. Completely normal, considering that they never knew when a Govey might try to silence them forever. Jefferson, however, dressed nothing like them. He refused to let the war and the government oppress him in any way. He was his own person, there would never be another in the world ever again, so he dressed that way. Unique. From head to toe, he was clad in magenta, a long coat trailing out behind him. His cane twirled in his hands every now and then, smacking against the cement with emphasis. He was Thomas Jefferson, and no one was going to take that away from him. No one.

**\----**


	2. Songs of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Impossible Duet is a real song

 

Jefferson was sitting at the kitchen table, eating mac and cheese while reading the printed pages of the book he had propped up. It was a normal evening, just like any other. He had already sent his response to Publius to the newspaper and was awaiting the reply. His evenings were always free, so he spent them reading or playing his violin, sometimes he would go for a midnight walk, despite the dangers is posed, such as muggings, for example. Often, he'd stay indoors or head out to the middle of nowhere to get some target practice in. Couldn't let his aim get rusty, now could he?

The world was a mess. The country was in ruins. The people didn't know what to do. The government couldn't do anything. Jefferson sighed. It had to be fixed. What's left of the government needed to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch. Give power back to the people, make sure everyone has their rights, and that the government couldn't fall back into the hands of an oligarchy. That's where it all went wrong when that oligarchy stepped into power. Basically, George Fredericks and some of his lackeys managed to wrestle enough control and slowly converted the nation into what it was now. That's what happened when the people let small insurrections slide. It was a slippery slope. One small right oppressed, then another, and soon you've got no rights and nothing to fight with.

Jefferson snapped his book shut, picked up his bowl to rinse it out in the sink. A quiet melody floated down the hallway and echoed softly around him. Jefferson paused, listening intently. Where was it coming from? Was someone in his house? And if there was, why would they break in just to play music? Then again, the world was full of crazy people. He turned off the tap and cautiously followed the sound down the hallway and into the living room. It was like an echo from another time. Laughter sounded around him, Jefferson whirled. It seemed to be coming from the fireplace, but there was no one there, just an empty room. As soon as Jefferson stepped up to the fireplace, it faded into nothingness, leaving the house eerily quiet and empty feeling.

"Great, now you're imagining things," Jefferson mumbled to himself. He returned to the kitchen, finished washing his bowl, and sat in his office chair and tried to focus on writing an outline for a new government, but he couldn't. His hands itched for his violin, the melody was still echoing in his mind even if the house was quiet now. Empty.

That melody. He knew it. Knew it well.

Jefferson returned to the living room, whisked out his violin and began to play.

***

Hamilton's evening was a disaster. First, he lost his favorite quill-pen- sorry. Then he got a healthy dose of muddy street water when a car drove by, splashing it all over him and his favorite coat. And best of all, he was going to have sell his house to be able to afford traveling to Virginia. That was something he definitely didn't want to do, but his work called him there. It was either live the rest of his days in New York, slowly fading into obscurity, or take the chance and leave for Virginia and pray everything falls together somehow.

The choice was obvious.

His bags were already packed.

His ex-wife, Eliza, would be happy that she didn't have to share custody of Philip for a long while, at least until Hamilton could get settled somewhere and be able to afford the travel fees it would cost for Philip to visit. As much as he would miss his son, this was something he had to do.

But did it have to be Virginia? Why couldn't the capital be in New York? That would be so much better. Hamilton sighed, there was no getting around going to Virginia, he didn't even know why he disliked it so much. There was no reason for him to, he just didn't like it. Well, maybe if he goes there he can find a real reason for not liking it.

Hamilton flopped down onto his bed and posted a short rant before falling asleep.

_There was fire._

_A nice warm fire that flickered in the fireplace and from candle wicks. Hamilton was lying on a comfy couch watching the flames flicker._

_No. He wasn't watching the flames, he was watching something else. Someone else._

_Music. There was music. Floating through the air and dancing around Hamilton and the other person. He squinted, who was that person? He couldn't tell, their back was to him and Hamilton's vision was blurry. They were doing something. What were they doing?_

_Playing. They were playing the music. The beautiful music that called to Hamilton's soul. So beautiful._

_The person was turning around, Hamilton was about to their face._

Hamilton blinked his eyes open. 

That dream. Where did it come from? Why was it always there? Hamilton's had that specific dream for as long as he could remember, it was almost more like a memory. When he was young, he asked his mother about it, she said that it was just a dream, it never happened. But it felt like more than a dream. It had to be. Hasn't she ever read a story before? Reoccuring dreams always meant something more.

And then there was this feeling about it, just like the feeling Hamilton got the first time he walked into a music store and saw the stringed instruments. He was drawn immediately to the violin and cello. He had run his hands down the smooth polished wood of that cello and he just had to have it. There was something about it that just demanded that Hamilton learn to play it.

So he did.

Hamilton sat up and rubbed his face, getting up to fetch his cello, feeling the familiar way it fit against his body, the way the neck felt in his hand and the strings on his fingertips. The bow slid against the strings and the cello hummed in response. Hamilton's fingers danced expertly along the strings as he played the song that resided in his soul and his dreams. It was his song. He'd always known how to play it. The first time he picked up the cello, the song just poured out of him, like he'd always known how to play.

Any other song he tried back then he was terrible at, but now he could play almost anything, he'd spent years mastering the instrument.

He was known well at all the music stores in New York. He came in often for polish or to get his bow rehaired or for some new strings. And every time his eyes would catch on the violin sitting in the display case. Just sitting there, waiting for someone to come along and claim it. And every time, Hamilton would leave the store without it and a weird feeling in his chest.

Hamilton placed the cello back into its case and lugged it down to the front door along with the rest of his luggage. He didn't have much. He couldn't. He didn't have a place to stay yet in Virginia, so it wasn't like he could pack up his entire house, just the necessities. His cello was indeed a necessity. It was his most prized possession. Where he went, it went.

Only, he had yet to realize just how far he'd be going in the years to come.

**\----**


	3. New Horizons

 

Hamilton's house was officially sold, along with all his furniture. It was a weird feeling, knowing you don't have anywhere to go back home to, nothing keeping you tied to a town or a city or a single place. It was an odd sensation that not everyone could handle, it was exhilarating and scary, yet oddly freeing. It was a feeling Hamilton was familiar with, he had it before when he left Nevis for New York. Now he was on the move again. Nothing to return to, not knowing what the future holds. It was terrifying knowing that his entire life, everything he had accomplished so far was now hanging in the balance of this one risky decision, but it wasn't anything Hamilton couldn't handle. He was willing to take that risk and if it fell through, Hamilton could just start again until he got it right.

He had no strings. He could do anything he wanted, anything at all. Except maybe go to the moon, that was definitely out of the cards. Unless he went to another country. Maybe he'll go to England someday, he always had a respect for England. That had such a wonderful financial system. Plus, their nation wasn't currently undergoing a low-key civil war just after a high key and explosive civil war.

Hamilton was waiting for the seatbelt sign to turn off and for the announcement that he could disembark. The airplane was getting stuffy. Finally, the sign clicked off and the disembodied voice announced they could leave. Hamilton practically leaped from his seat, grabbed his carry-on and bolted. He was out the door before anyone else had even gotten up. Baggage claim was packed full of people, unluckily for him, but he managed to grab his belongings and find his way back out of the crowd and to a taxi. Apparently, civil wars didn't shut down airports. That seemed like something that would be shut down first. Maybe it was airline companies raking in the cash from fleeing refugees, trying to escape the tyrannical oppression and the radical rebels. That sounded about right.

The taxi dropped Hamilton off at the hotel he'd be staying at for some time until he could find a place to rent. Hopefully, that would be soon, because he couldn't afford to stay at a hotel for long. He may have to consider getting a roommate or something. For now, Hamilton just had to set up his life again. He'd need a job. Preferably one that would earn him cash and fast.

He stepped up to the front desk, "Reservation for Hamilton," he stated.

The man looked up at him, took in his clothes and bearing all in one long look before recognition crossed his face, "You're Hamilton?! The Hamilton?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Hamilton asked.

"You're Alexander Hamilton, leader of the rebel forces during the war!" the man said happily.

Hamilton laughed nervously, "Yep, that's right." He was praying that this guy wasn't a Govey, if he was, Hamilton was going to be having a hard time.

"I think your work is fantastic, you should publish your story, talk about the battles and the riots!"

Not a Govey then, a fan. Great. Well, at least Hamilton didn't have to worry about being strangled in the middle of the night. "Maybe one day, I didn't know people in Virginia knew my name," Hamilton said skeptically.

"Of course! Your efforts in New York paved the way for the entire nation's revolution!"

"Some would call it a civil war."

"Whichever," the man waved him off, "Oh! I'm so sorry, you probably want your room key. You must be very tired after traveling all this way. What are you doing in Virginia if I might ask?" The man handed Hamilton his key.

"Getting into politics," Hamilton replied before waving goodbye and making his way to his room. It was nice to have fans, but too many got to be a hassle because then you couldn't get anywhere or do anything without being flooded by people. It got to be exhausting after awhile. Hamilton let himself into his room, his luggage was already there waiting for him. He'd unpack later, for now, a bed had his name written all over it.

***

Jefferson liked to think he was a well-traveled man. He spent many years traversing other countries, he's been everywhere in Europe, lots of places in Asia, he's even hit a couple countries in Africa and South America. He'd been to Australia too. Now he was standing in the house of George Washington. Mount Vernon. It was a beautiful place. So much history here. History was a passion of his, his favorite era was the American Revolution. So much happened during that time. War, the Declaration, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Louisiana Purchase, the French Revolution, just so much. And the people that had lived, oh the people! What really interested him was the story between his namesake,  _Thomas Jefferson_ , and  _Alexander Hamilton_. There was so much mystery wrapped around the two. There were so many different versions and accounts that there's no telling what really happened. Jefferson remembered learning about it college what seemed like a lifetime ago, back when the country was still somewhat functional.

Somewhat.

The professor had talked about how they were enemies and then friends. Most people say that they were always enemies and that  _Hamilton_ backing  _Jefferson_  in the election was just strategic politics. Jefferson had his own beliefs.

Not that it mattered.

Jefferson left Mount Vernon several hours later and returned to his home in the capital of the nation, Washington D.C. He owned farmlands way out in the Midwest, but there wasn't much that he needed to do to take care of them. Mostly paperwork. He was well set off financially. He inherited the land and a fair fortune when his father died when he was only fourteen. He missed them dearly.

The city was abuzz with news. People were muttering quietly to each other about it and glancing around like it was a conspiracy. Jefferson approached a couple people.

"What'd I miss?"

The people turned and looked at him, immediately recognizing him as Thomas Jefferson, one of the leaders of the revolution. "Jefferson!" one said, wide-eyed. He was hard to miss, the way he was dressed. He may not have fought physically, but everyone knew his name from the political efforts he put forth, going as far as to straight up demand a reformation of the current government with a great amount of help from John Adams. Cool guy.

"What's going on?" Jefferson asked.

"Oh, rumor has it that Alexander Hamilton has come all the way from New York to here, Washington D.C."

Jefferson raised his eyebrows, "Hamilton? You mean the leader of the New York Revolts at the beginning of the war?"

"That's the one."

"Where's he staying?" Jefferson asked.

"No idea, they say he just got here a couple days ago. Some lucky hotel worker recognized him and told his friends."

Jefferson nodded along, made sense, secrets were hard to keep when you're famous. "Thanks for telling me, if you find anything else out, make sure to let me know," Jefferson winked, handing over his email, "now don't go and share that with anyone," he whispered, and grin across his face. The person almost fainted as Jefferson walked away, whistling.

Alexander Hamilton, here in Washington D.C. Who would've guessed. Hamilton was known for his bravery during the war, leading mass amounts of people against the government. Jefferson was known more from the political side. If there was one thing Jefferson knew, it was that Hamilton was known for causing riots and mob rule by riling the people.

Sounds a lot like a certain pamphlet author Jefferson knew.

Hamilton was going to have to be careful, government loyalists, Goveys, would be all over him no time and they'd do everything in their power to rip him to shreds. And not just the loyalists, but if the military decided it was worth the risk, they might decide to make a move to kidnap Hamilton. Maybe Jefferson too. And other important iconic leaders of the rebellion. Jefferson hated the man's methods, but he did do a lot of good for the war. Perhaps a visit was in order.

**\----**


	4. Not According to Plan

****Hamilton never expected the news of his arrival to spread so quickly. Even if it should've been, he was an icon, after all, an icon moving to the heart of the nation to get even more involved. That was a big deal no matter how anyone looked at it, especially when so many icons already lived there, trying to settle things down in the aftermath of the war that just ended. If Hamilton had a guess, it was about to start up again. And that meant his job was to keep the Revolution alive.

Everyone else seemed to have this figured out as well. If he wanted so much as to walk down the street, he had to pull up his hood and put on some sunglasses and pray that no one recognized him. It only worked some of the time. Supporters rallied around him, Goveys threw stuff. Normal day to day. It wasn't much different from New York honestly. Just pray that no one decided to try and shoot him, which was a very high possibility. It was going to be like that where ever he went. Not that he let himself believe that. Any excuse to hate Virginia, right?

Even if Washington D.C. was technically not Virginia. Even if the park he was currently walking through was absolutely gorgeous.

Hamilton's time was mostly taken up by writing back T.J. who had responded to his pamphlet. T.J. was an idiot, thinking that they could set up a government practically identical to the one they had and think it would turn out any better. Though Hamilton had to admit, he was well learned and definitely knew his stuff. No one could hold their own against Hamilton as well as T.J. could. That didn't change the fact that Hamilton hated the guy. It was just natural, he couldn't stand someone who was so blind to what the nation actually needed.

At least Hamilton didn't have to deal with him in person, he could already see the heated arguments that would ensue. Hamilton would probably throw something or punch the guy, sometimes Hamilton wondered if he had anger issues. At least T.J. wasn't a government loyalist, a Govey. That would just be too much to bear. Hamilton would probably explode. Even if Hamilton had started out as a Govey himself. Oops.

But for now, Hamilton had to count his blessings. Everything was going according to plan. He was in Virginia, he managed to get a job at a law firm, he had an income, and he was getting closer to the heart of the operation. It wouldn't be long before he was running everything. He would fix the nation and set them on a path toward success. The future was bright and full of promise.

Hamilton stopped walking, acting like he was just enjoying the view when he was actually gauging the whispers around him. Shit, he'd been recognized somewhere and now there was a crowd.

"Is that-"

"I think it is."

"That's got to be him."

"Alexander Hamilton."

"Let's go get him."

Hamilton looked around, people were heading straight for him and they didn't look very friendly at all. He was quick to calculate odds, his military instinct kicking in. Most of them were just curling their fists, but there were a few with glass bottles and one or two with knives. His odds didn't look good. Hamilton turned quickly on his heel to make a retreat but ended up running into someone, he jumped back, ready to throw a punch.

That someone laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, "Jack! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you," the person said loudly, grinning down at him. Hamilton blinked, not quite relaxing as he scanned the man. A very tall man dressed in magenta, brandishing a cane. "Oh relax, darlin', it's just me."

The crowd of people paused. "Jack" the person went on, loud enough for everyone to hear, "where have you been? I've been waiting forever for you."

The crowd was whispering again. "That's him, isn't it?"

"The one in magenta, that's him."

"I can't believe it."

"Thomas Jefferson."

"Who's that then?"

"He said his name was Jack."

Hamilton knew that this guy was the only thing between him and the crowd right now. "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to keep you waiting," Hamilton said smoothly, dropping his hands and smiling kindly like he knew the guy all his life. "How about we get on our way and find a quiet place to talk?"

"Of course, but I'm afraid that pigeons always follow the food," the man said, glancing at the crowd. Hamilton understood immediately, no matter where they went, the crowd was going to follow. That meant this man was obviously well known around here. Of course, he was, the man was wearing the most obnoxious color imaginable. "But I know a place," the man added, thinking.

Hamilton nodded for him to lead on. Magenta Man led the way, calling Hamilton Jack every now and then, loud enough for everyone to hear that trailed behind them. As much as Hamilton was grateful for the man rescuing him from the mob, he was just as much suspicious of his intentions. People don't go out of their way for other people anymore. It was every man for themselves. It's just the way it was.

Magenta Man stopped in front of a house, pulled out some keys, and swung open the door, gesturing Hamilton inside. Hamilton's first thought was that this must be the man's house, the second was that the guy could kill Hamilton in here and no one would know and third was that man was definitely well set up financially. Hamilton should have known that just from the magenta. The door shut and locked behind them, to the complaints of the crowd. There was no turning back.

Hamilton turned and faced the man and held his hand, "Alexander Hamilton, thank you for what you did back there."

"Thomas Jefferson," the man said, shaking his hand, "It was no problem, I've been wanting to meet you anyway."

"Thomas Jefferson?  _The_ Thomas Jefferson?" Hamilton asked, never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he would meet the guy. Hamilton respected him, this was the man that kept the war alive and possible. He fought for the abolishment of the government just as Hamilton had, though, maybe in different ways. And some ways were absolutely idiotic, but they got the job done he supposed.

Jefferson chuckled, "Yours truly. And you're  _the_  Hamilton, leader of the rebel forces in New York. You pretty much started the war. A.K.A. Publius." Jefferson smiled and walked further into his house. "Would you like something to drink?" he called from another room. "Tea?"

Hamilton stood there in shock. Jefferson knew who he was, that meant he was familiar with Hamilton's work. Of course, he was, someone of his standings would read every word between Publius and T.J.

Everything Hamilton had thought of Jefferson shattered right before his eyes. 

"You're T. J?!" Hamilton shouted, stomping after Jefferson.

"Is that a yes on the tea then?" he asked.

"You're fucking T. J? All this time? T. J. stood for Thomas Jefferson?"

"It would seem so," Jefferson replied, waiting for the water to boil.

"You're the asshole that I've been fighting with for years?!"

Jefferson poured the water into two mugs with the tea bags and handed a mug to Hamilton, who took it automatically. "And you're the bastard I've been arguing with for years." Jefferson took a drink of his tea.

"Fuck you,"

"Can't right now, I want to finish my tea," Jefferson smirked.

"Asshole."

"Bastard."

Hamilton was furious. This was the guy that's been setting Hamilton's progress back at every turn. "If you knew who I was, why did you save me from the mob?"

"I don't believe in mob rule," Jefferson said simply, "I wanted to talk to you. That mob is what you created. Your writings make those mobs that gang up on people. How does it feel to know that there are people that those mobs have torn apart for no real reason other than disagreeing?"

For once Hamilton didn't have a comeback. He covered it up by taking a drink of the tea he'd been given. "Maybe those people should watch their tongues."

"You should take those words to heart," Jefferson laughed.

Hamilton was about to respond when the door burst open and armed guards barreled in, shouting commands. Hamilton instantly had two knives in his hands and Jefferson was lunging across the room for his cane. They were too late. Two gunshots rang out and both of them collapsed to the floor.

**\----**


	5. Spilled Blood

 

 

Hamilton struggled to wake up, his world was fuzzy and his vision blurry. There was pain. Lots of pain in his shoulder. Why did his shoulder hurt? Oh, right, he got shot. Slowly, his vision came into focus, a cold, dark, damp room. He could hear water dripping somewhere and there was just enough light to see. He was propped up against a stone wall, his shoulder was bandaged, and there was a lump on the opposite wall.

"Finally awake?" a voice drawled.

Not a lump. No, he could see that now, the curly hair, the muscular build, that goddamned voice. Nope, that was Thomas Jefferson, slumped against the wall, every bit of that grace and elegance he carried himself with was gone. Of all the people Hamilton could be in this situation with and it had to be him. It was too dark to make out any good details but Jefferson seemed fine, assuming his slouched figure, supported against the wall was because there wasn't any point keeping up appearances.

"Where are we?" Hamilton asked, wincing as he shifted positions.

"Prison somewhere, I'm sure," Jefferson replied.

"No shit, Sherlock," Hamilton snapped.

"Fuck off, Watson."

"I meant do you have any idea specifically?" Hamilton asked.

"I'm in the same situation as you. Why would I know any more than you do?"

"Because you got us into this mess," Hamilton said.

"Me?" Jefferson asked incredulously, "I got us into this? You're the one who showed up in Virginia, loud as can be."

"They broke into your house."

Jefferson sighed, exasperated, "Listen, Hamilton, we're in a deep pile of shit right now and we need to start asking some better questions, like why would they throw us in the same cell?"

"Because they ran out of room. Or maybe they didn't want to waste the space on your worthless ass."

"Hamilton, pull your head out of your ass and think. This isn't the time for your stubborn shenanigans. No, I'll bet that they're listening to everything we say and are going to use it against us in every way they can. Think about it, government soldiers break down my door and kidnap two of the largest icons of rebellion. What's that going to do?"

"Break the revolution," Hamilton answered, "Without us, the people will lose hope and the ranks will break, allowing the government to sweep back in and retake control."

"Now you're catching on."

"Shit, Jefferson, we've got to get out here."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" Jefferson asked, rolling his eyes.

"Spite and determination."

"My God, just shut up for once."

"Well then, what do you propose we do," Hamilton asked.

"Not discuss such things while being watched," Jefferson replied, tapping his fingers on his knee. The movement drew Hamilton's attention. Jefferson went on, "So, Hamilton, with nothing else to do, tell me about yourself."

Hamilton watched Jefferson's long fingers drum steadily against his knee. "I'd rather eat a rat than tell you about myself," Hamilton snapped.

"Careful, you just might have to." Jefferson's fingers stopped and then started up again.

"Eat a rat? Eh, I'm sure our captors can come up with a better form of torture than that." Jefferson's fingers stilled again. Hamilton crossed his arms and started tapping his own fingers against his arm.

"Read any interesting books recently?" Jefferson asked, watching Hamilton's fingers. So Hamilton was right, Jefferson did have an idea in mind. Morse code. Who knew it would come in handy?

They kept up a casual conversation while conversing through Morse code.

 _We'll just have wait and watch for now, memorize patterns and routines,_ Jefferson signed.

_That's all you got?_

_I don't see you coming up with anything better._

_Yeah? Well, I got shot and you didn't_ Hamilton tapped.

Jefferson rose his eyebrows. What an idiot. You're _being a sissy,_ Jefferson tapped back.

_I thought we were making an escape plan_

_We were, then you started complaining._

_Shut up,_ Hamilton signed.

_There's not much we can do right now, all we can do is wait._

"I can't believe when the door came down, you dived for your cane," Hamilton said, the silent conversation ceasing, so they returned to the cover conversation they were having. "What were you going to do? Whack them with it?"

"Yeah? All you had were a couple of puny knives and that didn't stop you from getting shot," Jefferson retorted.

"At least I had something."

The door clanged open and a man stood silhouetted in the doorway. "You," he said pointing at Hamilton, "Come with me," he commanded.

Hamilton squinted up at the man, "I'm afraid my legs are asleep and I can't move them. You'll have to carry me."

Jefferson snorted.

The man walked over, slammed his fist into Hamilton's stomach causing him to double over in pain, the man then dragged Hamilton out of the room, the prison door slamming shut after them. Jefferson was left alone in the dark.

***

Hamilton was blinded by the bright light that was being shined in his face. "Where are the other rebel leaders?" a gruff voice asked.

"I'm sorry, I can't focus, I'm too busy being blinded," Hamilton replied.

The voice growled, "Where are the other rebel leaders?"

"Do I get donuts or something? Some interrogations in the movies have donuts."

Someone hit him with the butt of a gun, "Where are the other rebel leaders?"

"Rebels? There are rebels? Would you please point me in the right direction? I'd like to join up."

The man flipped open a knife and Hamilton eyed it wearily. "Where?"

"Up your ass."

Hamilton screamed.

***

The prison door clanged open again what seemed like hours later. The same man pointed at Jefferson, "You, come with me."

"I'm afraid I'm not really capable of moving at this time," Jefferson replied, his breathing labored. The man walked over and just as he had done with Hamilton, slammed his fist into Jefferson's stomach. He cried out in pain and fell to the floor. He could feel his wound, where he'd gotten shot start bleeding again, soaking the bandages. The blood would no doubt stain his coat at this rate. Those fuckers.

The only thing that told him he was being dragged from the room was the increased pain that shot through him.

"You're going to your maker, just as your friend did."

Jefferson summoned up all the strength he had, "Bitch, please, we both know I'm going to Hell and I plan on ruling."

Jefferson was thrown into a chair and the man racked a pistol "Oh please," Jefferson said, "you've already shot me once, get a little creative."

"Where are the other rebel leaders?" he asked.

Jefferson smiled up at the man, "When you get to Hell, I'll be waiting for you. We'll have lots of fun, you and I. Lot's of fun."

The man slid the mag in. "Adams, Washington, Henry Richard Lee, Benjamin Franklin, and all the rest. Tell me where."

" _I'm on the highway to hell,"_ Jefferson sang.

The cold barrel pressed against Jefferson's head. "Where," he snarled.

" _No stop signs, speed limits"_

The man pulled the trigger.

_Click_

Jefferson stared up at him. "Give me some credit will you? I know how a gun works. You load the mag and  _then_  rack the gun to chamber a round you fucking idiot."

The man chambered a round and put it through Jefferson's thigh, missing the bones. He screamed and jerked away, "YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH."

"Tell me where."

"What's your name?" Thomas asked, his body slumped forward and his head hanging down. "I want to know so when I escape from here, and I promise you, I will, so that I can hunt you down and stomp the heel of my boot through your ugly excuse of a skull that you call a face," Thomas said, looking up at the man through his curls. "I swear to God that I will. And you will remember this moment and beg. Maybe if I feel charitable, I'll just shoot you instead."

"I'll tell you my name, only because I want you to know exactly who it is who's going to break you. Edward Garrison. Remember it."

"Oh, I think I will."

***

Hamilton was thrown back into the empty cell with many more bruises, cuts, and stab wounds than when he left. And his shoulder ached like a motherfucker. Holy fuck, he had forgotten what it felt like to get shot and stabbed but at least these people had the decency to stitch him up again afterward. Apparently, Hamilton was too important to die just yet.

Jefferson wasn't there, no doubt he was getting his own interrogation, he better not break. Hamilton didn't have high hopes on that though, Jefferson probably couldn't handle pain, being pampered the way he was. He didn't go through the horrors of the first war like Hamilton did.

Still, he better not break, if he did, Hamilton was going to kill him. He sat against the wall and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Where was he?

The door clanged open and Jefferson was roughly thrown in before the door slammed shut again. Jefferson hit the floor face down and didn't move.

"Jefferson?" Hamilton prodded for a response. "Jefferson? Are you okay?" Hamilton crept closer, still, Jefferson didn't move. "Jefferson?" Hamilton poked him, "Come on, man. Don't don't be such a wuss." Hamilton turned Jefferson over, his blood turned to ice. There was blood everywhere. It was soaked through his coat, smeared across his face, on his hands, everywhere. "Shit," Hamilton swore.

"Hamilton," Jefferson mumbled weakly.

"Oh thank God, you're still alive."

Jefferson smiled painfully, "Never thought you would say that."

"Shut up."

Jefferson struggled to sit up, Hamilton went to help him, "No no, I can do it," Jefferson waved him off, pulling himself over to the wall between labored breaths and pained gasps. He collapsed against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

"Fuck, Jefferson, what did they do to you?" Hamilton asked.

Sweat rolled down Jefferson's face, he didn't answer right away, it took him a bit, "They reopened my gunshot wound. And then did me the favor of giving me another. Can't wait to see how that scars."

"You got shot?" Hamilton asked, shocked. "You said you didn't."

"You said I didn't, I didn't bother denying you."

"Shit, Jefferson, you should have told me."

"And done what? What could you have done about it?" Hamilton's only response was silence. "That's what I thought."

After a moment, Hamilton asked quietly, "Did you break?"

"Of course not."

Hamilton smiled slightly, "Good." Jefferson's head fell back against the wall as his body dragged him into mandatory sleep in an effort to heal his wounds. Hamilton could feel it weighing on him as well. Might as well sleep while they could.

**\----**

**Summary:**

**Jefferson and Hamilton wake up in a cell together and decide they can only wait and watch. Hamilton was shot in the shoulder and Jefferson got shot in the abdomen. Then they get tortured. Jefferson issues a death threat. More like a promise. Then they go back to their cell and fall asleep.**

**\----**


	6. Passing Time

 

Question of the hour, or day, or week, Hamilton didn't know, question of the time then, How do you pass time in prison? But that's not all, how do you pass time in prison with someone you couldn't care less about that couldn't move due to a gunshot wound received when they were kidnapped by the government's lapdogs?

Talking. That's basically all you could do. Sometimes Hamilton couldn't even do that, Jefferson wasn't always able to. He slept a lot, trying to recover from his blood loss. Those soldiers really did a number on him. Hamilton realized he'd been the one to get off lucky. Even if he couldn't really use one arm, he could still walk and move around. Jefferson was pretty much constrained to the floor.

He didn't know how many days had passed, but surely it had been at least a week or two since they had been dragged out and interrogated. Food came irregularly, so there was no telling by that. At least food came. Awful as it was. It gave them strength.

At least their captors had treated their wounds, if they hadn't, Jefferson would probably be. Maybe. It seemed like whoever did that to him and had woken a hellfire that wasn't going to be easily put out. Hamilton could see it smoldering, waiting for the chance to burn everything to the ground.

It was a bit terrifying. Maybe Jefferson was harder to kill than Hamilton originally thought. Either way, they were healing, and they were healing well.

***

Time passed in an endless blur. Every now and then, one of them would be dragged from the cell, but it seemed like their captors were trying to break them mentally now, instead of physically.

Jefferson was finally moving around again, which was good, that meant they could work on their escape plan.

There wasn't much of one.

They didn't have anything to form one off of. They didn't have anything to turn into a weapon, they didn't have a pattern to work around, they had nothing. Just the clothes on their backs. Perhaps they could choke their prison guard or maybe hold him hostage. That wouldn't get them very far though.

"Hey Jefferson," Hamilton said suddenly, breaking the silence that had descended on them.

"What?"

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you get out of here?"

"Eat a shit ton of macaroni. You?"

"Coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, coffee." A pause. "Then what?"

"After my macaroni? Rain hellfire and damnation upon every government bastard that locked me in here."

"I like it. Seems kinda extreme for you though. You've always seemed strictly political."

Jefferson shrugged, "Things change."

Hamilton nodded and returned to silence.

***

The door clanged open startling Hamilton and Jefferson from their slumber.

"Oh goody, visitors," Jefferson drawled.

"Have you come to beat us up again?" Hamilton asked, blinking blindly against the light that suddenly flooded the room from the doorway.

"Mr. Hamilton! Mr. Jefferson! You're still alive! Thank God!" The man turned and shouted over his shoulder, "Yo! Freddie! Gabe! I found them!"

"Who are you?" Hamilton asked, getting to his feet.

"Rebels, sir," the man responded, "Name's Jimmy Matthews, we took the base in a fight knowing you were here. This is your rescue mission."

Jefferson got slowly to his feet, "Jimmy Matthews you say? Lovely to meet you. How long have you been with the rebel army?"

"About a year or so. Mr. Hamilton, to whom am I to send a dispatch to, to spread news of your release? To rally the troops?"

Jefferson cut in, placing a hand on Hamilton's should and tapping his fingers, "In a minute Mr. Matthews, let's take a walk and inspect to the base you've taken. Thank the men for their daring rescue."

"Sure thing!" Matthews said, stepping out of the way of the door. His comrades, Freddie and Gabe rounded the corner. "Freddie, Gabe, we're taking Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Hamilton on a tour. They wish to bestow their thanks to the men."

Hamilton's focus was mainly on Jefferson's tapping fingers.

_Trap. Information gathering. Probably too guarded to escape. Attempt anyway?_

Hamilton had to figure out how to tap back, he laid his hand on top of Jefferson's that rested on Hamilton's shoulder.  _I have one arm and you can barely walk and you're thinking about taking on an entire fort of military trained soldiers?_ Hamilton dropped his hand so Jefferson could tap back.

_Dedication and determination as you say._

Hamilton tapped his response,  _Patience and diligence as you say._

 _We'll see how it goes._  Jefferson's hand dropped. Jimmy Matthews led them around the compound, introduced Jefferson and Hamilton to a few men before taking them into a cafeteria and giving them some food. Matthews sat down, pulled out a piece of paper, and asked, "Now who was it I am sending this to and where?"

"General Sam Brenton," Jefferson replied, "Make sure to send him my regards as well."

Hamilton studied Jefferson. Clever. Matthews looked at Jefferson for a moment, "But sir, isn't General Brenton a Governmental Officer?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Matthews, I thought you knew," Hamilton jumped in, "General Brenton is a Rebel spy planted in the ranks of the Government. How do you think the revolution has managed to last so long?"

"Oh right, of course, sir," Matthews stuttered as he scribbled down the note and had it sent away immediately. Clever clever Jefferson.

"Would you be kind Matthews and get me a map of this compound?" Jefferson asked.

"I'm sorry, I don't have one," Matthews replied nonchalantly.

"Well then go find one," Hamilton commanded, throwing authority into his voice. Startled, Matthews went to find one.

Hamilton leaned over to Jefferson and whispered quietly, "How'd you know?"

"I memorized a list of every person fighting in the rebel army. There is no Jimmy Matthews."

"You mean to tell me you memorized every name in the rebel army because you could?"

Jefferson shrugged, "I had a night off."

Hamilton laughed, "Clever to make them think that one of their best generals is now a rebel spy."

"Always use circumstances to your advantage. Not only did we manage that, but now we've got a basic layout of the base. I bet you that if you went down that hallway, took two lefts and a right, we'd be outside."

"Then why don't we go?"

"Armed guards at cafeteria doors. Matthews wouldn't be so stupid to leave us unsupervised."

"Well right now everyone thinks we believe their ruse, so let's walk around like we own the place," Hamilton said, standing. Jefferson followed suit and they made for the door. The soldier by the door went to stop them but hesitated, unsure if he should keep them in the room or allow them out. Jefferson and Hamilton walked out the door before he could make up his mind.

Only to run into Matthews and an entire regiment of armed guards.

Matthews smirked, "Back to your cells gentlemen, playtime is over."

Jefferson glanced at Hamilton before turning to Matthews, "What is this? I demand answers! Insubordination!"

"Nothing of the sort, sir. You see, there was never a battle and the fort was never taken. I'm a loyal Governmental, as is everyone else here. We thank you for your cooperation though and letting us know about General Brenton. Now back to your cells."

"How dare you, you piece of shit!" Hamilton screamed, launching at Matthews, only to be punched and thrown to the ground.

Jefferson and Hamilton were marched back to their cell.

**\----**


	7. Broke

****"You know, when I came to Virginia and decided I might have to get a roommate, this is not what I had in mind," Hamilton stated. After a moment he added, "At least the rent's free."

"And free food too," Jefferson said, grimacing at the disgusting pile of mush on his plate before shoveling it into his mouth.

"No electric bill. Or water."

"No mobs that try to kill you when you walk out the door."

"Just an occasional dick of a soldier."

"And all you have to do for admission is get shot."

"And lead a rebel army."

"Not half bad, I'd say."

"Not bad at all."

They both laughed.

Neither of them knew how long they'd been imprisoned. Neither of them knew what was happening in the outside world. If the revolution was still alive or if it was crushed. The war was over, why did this happen?

Because it wasn't over. It was never over. Nothing is ever over so easily. The rebels won a huge victory and everyone assumed it was the end of it all. The Government had other plans apparently, which evidently included kidnapping two of the heads of the rebel cause. Two of the greatest icons. It would have been a devastating blow to the cause. How many were still fighting? How many had given up? Hamilton wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

He was restless, he didn't understand how Jefferson could sit still for so long, how having nothing to do didn't drive him crazy. He just sat there and hummed. Hummed, always with the humming.

At least it wasn't silent. Humming was better than silence. Eventually, Hamilton started humming along. It was a tune he knew and it kept him occupied, so why not?

Hamilton paced, hands clasped behind his back. Jefferson sat in the corner, back straight, eyes closed. Hamilton stopped in front of him. "What are you doing," he asked Jefferson.

"Thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"Lots of things."

"What kind of things."

"How to build a new nation."

"No, don't think about that," Hamilton said.

"Why not?" Jefferson asked, cracking an eye open.

"Because you suck at it, T. J."

"And you're even worse, Publius."

"You're insufferable."

"Alas, you're stuck with me. Roommates, remember?"

"Asshole."

"Bastard."

Hamilton sank against the wall, resting his head against the cool stone. He wished he had his cello. Just as Jefferson wished he had his violin. The nothingness was getting to both of them, Hamilton just showed it more.

***

"Je ne peux pas attendre pour voir la couleur à nouveau. J'en ai marre de ces murs gris et de ces sols crasseux. Je veux voir les jaunes et les verts du printemps. Champs rouges de fleurs. Arbres ondulant dans le vent. Des étendues sans fin de plaines d'herbe. Je veux emmener mes chevaux et galoper à travers eux, puis pique-niquer au sommet d'une colline. _(I_ _can't wait to see color again. I'm tired of these gray walls and grimy floors. I want to see the yellows and greens of spring. Red fields of flowers. Trees waving in the wind. Endless stretches of grass plains. I want to take my horses out and just gallop through them and then have a picnic_   _at the top of a hill),"_ Jefferson said with a soft smile.

"Est-ce avant ou après que vous ayez brûlé le monde entier _(Is this before or after you have burned the whole world to the ground)_?" Hamilton asked.

"Gravez-le pour le reconstruire. Meilleur. Plus libre _(Burn it to rebuild it. Better. More free)._ "

"Si nous vivons(If we live)," Hamilton said.

"Si nous vivons _(If we live),"_ Jefferson repeated

Hamilton replied after a few moments. "Nous allons vivre. Je vis toujours. Et si je peux le faire, vous le pouvez aussi _(We will live. I always live. And if I can make it, so can you)_."

The door swung open, "You," the man said, pointing at Jefferson, "we're going for a walk."

"How about you go for a walk and leave me the fuck alone? I'm not a fan of your company."

Hamilton snorted. The man strode into the room grabbed Jefferson by the hair and jerked his face into the floor. "Hey!" Hamilton leaped to his feet. "You can't come in here and smash his face into the ground just after I gave such a wonderful motivational speech."

The man turned to look at Hamilton. "Shut your face."

Jefferson had risen to his full height, towering over the man, grinning a grin that promised a bloody death. Hamilton realized just then how terrifying Jefferson could be. Before anyone could so much as breathe, Jefferson stepped back, wound up his fist, and slammed into the man's face right as he looked over his shoulder to see Jefferson standing and paled, sending him sprawling out the doorway.

"Shit, Jefferson," Hamilton swore.

Jefferson nodded toward the doorway, "Let's go." Hamilton nodded and they raced out the doorway, Hamilton stopping to steal the pistol from the man's belt. Jefferson must've really hit him hard, the guy was out cold. They ran down the hallway, taking turnings sharply, praying they didn't run into anyone else. Hamilton checked to see how much ammo he had. Eight rounds. Not enough.

Hamilton had great aim, so they could take out at least eight, and if they took the weapons from them too, they might just have a chance.

They rounded another corner only to come skidding to a halt. Jefferson and Hamilton stood face to face with a group of at least twenty soldiers. Well, shit. Hamilton's gun was already aimed squarely at his favorite person.

"Well, well, well," Hamilton sneered, "if it isn't none other than Jimmy Matthews. How are you doing to today? I ran all this way just to find out."

Matthews smiled sourly, "Just fine. I'll be better after I smear your brains all over the walls."

"So violent. What would your mother think?" Jefferson asked.

"At least I have one," Matthews sneered. Hamilton and Jefferson growled. "Now come quietly, you're outnumbered, there's no way you can make it out alive if you fight." Hamilton glanced at Jefferson who nodded in return. Hamilton slowly lowered his pistol. "Good," Matthews purred.

Hamilton and Jefferson bolted back the way they came and took a different route. "Find them!" Matthews screamed.

"Split up," Jefferson said, turning down a different hallway. Hamilton kept running. He and Jefferson could make it out. They could. They had to. So Hamilton ran.

Right into the butt of a gun.

He slammed into the ground, his world swimming, the gun smashed into his face again.

***

He woke and was dragged from the room into another room with a massive window. One way glass. The room on the other side was empty, but the room he was in wasn't. Matthews stood there with several other guards. "Talk," he commanded.

Hamilton spat on the floor.

"I'm going to say this again, talk."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Bring him in," Matthews said.

Hamilton whirled and looked through the one-way glass as Jefferson was dragged into the room by his hair and thrown to the ground. His face was bloody and beaten up. His clothes were even more ragged than before. Jefferson struggled to his knees and stared defiantly into his captor's eyes.

"Talk," Matthews said again.

"Fuck you," Hamilton growled.

On the other side of the glass, Jefferson's captor aimed a gun at Jefferson's head.

"Talk," Matthews said again.

Hamilton grit his teeth, refusing to remove his gaze from Jefferson. Jefferson looked right at Hamilton as if he could see through the one-way glass.

"I said fuck you," Hamilton ground out.

Jefferson's captor pulled the trigger and Jefferson sank to the floor.

Hamilton snapped.

**\----**


	8. Ice

 

The last thing Hamilton could remember was Jefferson's body dropping, him seeing red, and somehow getting his hands on an automatic weapon. Everything after that went to hell.

It was a blur.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in a hallway, surrounded by corpses, breathing heavily.

They shot Jefferson. They fucking shot him.

"Hamilton?"

He swung around, aiming his gun at the source of the voice. It clattered to the floor when he saw who stood there.

"Jefferson?"

"But you're dead. They shot you, you're dead," Jefferson said in disbelief.

"No, they shot you. How are you here? I watched you die."

Jefferson stared at Hamilton for a moment, reliving what he was sure had happened. Not knowing it was the exact same thing Hamilton had seen but reversed, Hamilton getting shot instead of Jefferson. "Fucking holograms. They used fucking holograms."

Hamilton cracked. He burst into a fit of laughter, doubling over, clutching his stomach. Jefferson watched, slightly worried about Hamilton's mental health. Shit, Jefferson was worried about his own mental health.

Hamilton's laughter finally died down enough for him to speak, "Look at you! Look at me! We're covered in blood, clutching stolen weapons that we ripped from our captor's hands. They showed us holograms so we'd break and spill everything we know. Oh, we broke alright. Ha! Broke and slaughtered everyone here."

Jefferson walked forward and pulled Hamilton into an embrace. "I thought you were dead."

Hamilton pulled away, "Let's get out of here."

"About bloody time."

Guns slung over their shoulders, Jefferson and Hamilton walked out of the compound and into the light of the late night moon.

***

Jefferson had returned home but found he couldn't stay there anymore. Every creak was a footstep. Every echo and scream. Every silent moment was another moment bleeding out in that stone cell. The day he walked into his house again, he went straight for his closet and pulled out an old polished wooden case, running his hand over it before flipping the lid open and pulling out the bane of his existence. Dual, gleaming, silver pistols. And then he left and never went back. Now he was staying in a hotel room, both of the pistols hidden in holsters tucked under his arms. He be damned if he was ever caught without them again.

He did, however, do exactly what he said he would. He stuffed his face with mac and cheese the first moment he got the chance. It was a moment of pure bliss and satisfaction. Jefferson had no idea what Hamilton was up to, he straight up disappeared. As soon as they got out of that hell hole, they went their separate ways. Jefferson could remember. They stepped out, blinking in the sunlight, shielding their eyes from the intensity of the light, both swearing they'd never get used to it again. Then they looked at each other, nodded and walked away. They both had their own things to see too.

They had been in there for several months and the world went on without them. The Rebellion collapsed just as they thought it would and the Government swept in and reestablished and fragile control. There was no real Revolution to go back to. Just a couple of rebel camps that were barely holding together. There was no point anymore. So they both just, disappeared. They didn't discuss it, they didn't say a word, but somehow, they both just fell off the face of the Earth. The whole world thought they were dead.

But that hellfire still smoldered in the pit of Jefferson's stomach and a storm brewed in Hamilton's veins. It would only be so long before one of them stepped up again and threw the world back into chaos. But for now, Jefferson ate mac and cheese, tried and failed to sleep, and took late night walks. He hadn't touched his violin, he couldn't bring himself to.

Jefferson wondered what Hamilton was up to.

Hamilton was lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He never slept much before, but he slept enough to keep going. Now he couldn't sleep at all. If he did, nightmares. Terrible, horrid nightmares.

He wondered what Jefferson was up to.

Hamilton drank lots of coffee, just like he said he would. It delicious and felt like a part of him that had been missing was returned. Coffee, such a beautiful thing.

Hamilton hadn't been working, his hotel bill sat on the counter, unpaid. He was going to get kicked out if he didn't do anything about it. Not that he cared at that point. Too many echoes for him to care. Why should he care? Everything he fought for had fallen apart.

Ice. He needed ice. There was an ice machine just down the hall. All he had to do was get up and get some. Hamilton didn't want to get up. He made himself anyway. Ice would feel good on his face. He walked out of his room and down to the ice machine. There was someone already there. Hamilton debated turning around and going back later, but then he recognized the hair, the stance, the set of the shoulders. Well, he'd be damned. It was none other than Thomas Jefferson.

"Fancy meeting you here," Hamilton cooed, causing Jefferson to jump, reaching automatically for a weapon, but he only twitched toward it before the voice registered and he relaxed slightly.

Jefferson turned and saw him. "Hamilton? You look awful."

"So do you."

"Bitch, I always look amazing."

"Yeah, all the time except right now, because you look terrible. Not sleeping?" Hamilton asked.

"Not really, you either, huh?"

"Sleep is for the weak."

"Sleep is for the healthy and mental sound," Jefferson replied. "I'm guessing you came for ice?" he asked, stepping out of the way of the machine.

"Yeah."

"How long have you been staying here?" Jefferson asked.

"Ever since I came to Virginia."

"Didn't you say something about needing a roommate back-I mean, a while ago?"

"Yeah."

Hamilton knew what Jefferson was thinking. They both didn't want to admit it, but their time in that hell hole made it hard to be alone, in the silence. Jefferson was probably dying for company just as much as Hamilton was, but neither of them was going to do anything about it and admit weakness to the other. That's how they survived, Hamilton and Jefferson, by staying strong. If they broke, it would be the end. They couldn't break. That's just how it was.

Jefferson took a deep breath, "Well if you're in a tight spot, you can room with me. I'll get a suite-style, with two rooms. I'm well off so you wouldn't have to worry..." Jefferson trailed off.

Hamilton wanted to accept, was dying to, he couldn't take another second of his quiet hotel room, but could he? Could he accept such a thing from Jefferson? "Sure," Hamilton found himself saying, surprising them both.

"Ah, great, I'll go make the arrangements then," Jefferson said, "I'll text you the room number when I get it and you can meet me there. What's your number?"

Hamilton gave it and left for his own room to gather his things, not bothering to check out since he was technically dead anyway, while Jefferson took care of getting a new room. Aliases were a wonderful thing. Hamilton couldn't say he would miss this place. There was no reason to. No good memories, but no necessarily bad ones either, unless nightmares counted, but he'd have those anywhere.

He wondered if Jefferson had them too.

**\----**


	9. Eye of the Hurricane

 

Jefferson had no idea how all this happened. He supposed it started a long time ago, with the war. He certainly never expected to be sharing a hotel suite with none other than Alexander Hamilton, author of the Publius pamphlets, idiot to all things political, and straight up pain. But he guessed that's just how life went sometimes.

It was kinda awkward, but also kinda natural. Neither of them knew what to do with themselves. Jefferson had no idea Hamilton had a cello because it was in Hamilton's room, where Jefferson never ventured. Hamilton had no idea about Jefferson's violin for the same exact reason. Neither of them could bring themselves to play, the music in their hearts seems to have died out. They were used to living with each other on a stone cold floor with one of them dangerously close to dying. They had no idea how to deal with each other in the comforts provided by a hotel suite. So they mostly kept to themselves.

Hamilton learned that Jefferson was a master cook, he hardly left the kitchen. Jefferson swore he was never eating a pile of mush again and every bite he would have would be fit for a five-star restaurant. Hamilton thought the whole thing was stupid, but he didn't complain seeing as he got delicious meals out of it. He supposed it was a way Jefferson was coping.

They both were. With nothing to do but wait, they had to find a way to fill their time that didn't involve too many outside adventures. They were too easily recognized.

One day, they were both sprawled out on a couch, flipping through t.v. channels, when Jefferson paused on a news station.

"-the case concerning the two missing rebel leaders, Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton, has finally come to a close. They have been found dead. The details surrounding their demise is still murky. The government promises to launch a full investigation on the-"

Jefferson turned the t.v. off. Dead. They were dead. Not just missing now.

"Well I'll be damned," Jefferson said. "They killed us."

"There are two ways this could go," Hamilton said, thinking, "Either the rebel forces collapse completely, which is what the government is aiming for-"

"Or they retaliate with everything they've got in one last-ditch effort," Jefferson finished. They looked at each other. The time was fast approaching when they would reemerge into the outside world. They had to be prepared.

The room was silent for a moment. "Have you thought about disappearing, Hamilton?" Jefferson asked, his voice quiet. "I mean really disappearing? Getting out of this war?"

Hamilton stared blankly at the black t.v. screen. "Yeah..."

"We could..." Jefferson trailed off.

Hamilton sat there for a minute, "No, we can't"

Jefferson sighed, Hamilton was right of course. It was just the wishful thinking of a tired soul. Jefferson stood and stretched, "Well come on then, we've got work to do."

Once in a war, you never leave until it kills you.

***

Jefferson and Hamilton pushed all the furniture against the wall and laid a sheet down on the floor. They both stood on top of it, hands guarding their faces, sneering taunts at the other, squaring off. Hamilton stepped forward and threw a punch aimed at Jefferson's ribs, Jefferson easily dodged and retaliated by swinging his leg for Hamilton's face. He ducked and brought his fist up inside Jefferson's guard, slamming it into his chin. Jefferson's head snapped back. Hamilton grinned and Jefferson growled. Hamilton landed a hit.

They'd been brawling for nearly half an hour, neither of them being able to land a hit the entire time. Apparently, they were both skilled fighters and hard to pin down without seriously hurting each other.

Jefferson launched forward, jabbing Hamilton's neck with an open hand and kicked out one of Hamilton's legs, pushing him backward on the floor and pinning him. "Fuck," Hamilton swore, trying to get out from under Jefferson. "For someone strictly into politics, you know how to fight," Hamilton said, accepting the hand up Jefferson offered him.

"And for someone shorter than a fifth grader, you can certainly throw a punch."

"I've been told I can really throw things too, I believe the exact words were, " _Shit. Has anyone ever told you, you have an outrageously strong throwing arm, because_ _Jesus-fucking-Christ._ "

"Oh really? And who told that?" Jefferson asked.

Hamilton's brow furrowed. "I can't remember...It seems like forever ago...a lifetime."

Jefferson looked at Hamilton strangely before shrugging and walking down the hallway, "That's enough practice for today I think. I'm going to take a shower."

Hamilton stood there trying to remember who told him that so long ago. Someone important for sure.

***

Jefferson was hunched over his laptop when he looked up at Hamilton, who was reading in the corner, "Hey, Hamilton, what're your dimensions?"

"My what?"

"Your dimensions, measurements. For clothes."

"What the hell do you need those for?" Hamilton asked, snapping his book shut and walking over to see what Jefferson was doing.

"You need the proper  _I'm still alive! So Fuck all of You!_ clothes."

"Why won't what I have work?"

"One, they're drab and hideous, meant for survival and not a statement. What we're doing is a statement. Two, you have to make an impression, what you have won't do that. Three, you'll be standing next to yours truly, and I always look amazing. If you show up with what you've got, no one will see you standing next to such a fabulous specimen such as myself."

"You're so full of shit."

"Measurements?" Jefferson hummed. Hamilton listed them off. "And don't worry," Jefferson continued, "I'm having them custom made. They'll be just a durable as anything else you've got and have plenty of places to stash your pathetic knives."

"Hey, at least I was armed," Hamilton retorted.

"What color?" Jefferson asked.

"Color? I don't know."

"Just pick your favorite color."

"I don't have a favorite color. I don't care. Umm, blue. Yeah, that'll work."

Jefferson turned away from the computer and looked Hamilton up and down. Hamilton's face heated. "Green," Jefferson nodded to himself, turning back to the computer.

"Green?"

"Bright ass emerald green. Nice and shiny. Brings out your eyes and coloring."

"What the fuck?"

"Enough to make a statement, fancy, has character, but not too much for your personality."

"Fine, whatever. Just don't get me one of those stupid ass long coats that you like to wear."

"Bitch, you couldn't pull that off if you tried."

"What're you wearing then?"

"A stupid ass long coat. Velvet. Bright magenta coupled with a dark purple. And my cane!"

"That's ridiculous."

"You won't be saying that when I'm standing next to you. You'll wish you could be as fabulous as me."

"Asshole."

"Bastard. There! All ordered. Should be here tomorrow."

"That's fast."

"Perks of being rich, one-day shipping."

Jefferson got up and threw a coat at Hamilton, "Come on, we're going somewhere."

"Where are we going?" Hamilton asked, slipping the coat on.

"My house, gotta grab something."

"And I have to come?"

"I can't carry it alone."

Hamilton rose his eyebrow quizzically. "And what exactly is it that you can't lift by yourself?" The dude was basically pure muscle, Hamilton found it hard to believe there was something he couldn't lift.

"I said carry, not lift you shit head, just come on."

They walked out the door, hailed a taxi, and stood on Jefferson's doorstep as he pushed open the door. Hamilton had only been inside Jefferson's house once and that was right before they got kidnapped and thrown in prison. The events replayed in Hamilton's mind as he stood frozen in the middle of the room. Jefferson stood there too, but he shook it off, grabbed Hamilton and guided him forward, no doubt knowing what Hamilton was reliving.

He led him up some stairs and into the bedroom. Hamilton curiosity was growing by the second. He didn't see anything that could be deemed important enough for this trip. Jefferson strode up to the wall and opened a secret panel, revealing a safe door that he swung open and stepped through. There was a whole other room on the other side of the door. Jefferson poked his head back out, "Well, come on, don't just stand there." Hamilton followed him inside as the lights clicked on.

Hamilton was standing in the middle of a small armory. "What the fuck dude? Where did you get all this?  _Why_ did you get all this?"

Jefferson started plucking things off the wall. "Situations where I have to equip a ragtag group of rebels to fight a professional military. Kinda like the one we're in."

"That makes no sense. How did you know that you'd have to?"

"I didn't for sure, but usually when war threatens, weapons are always in demand. I prepared, okay?"

"You're insane."

"Darlin, you know everyone is insane these days."

"Yeah, but you're more so."

"If I'm insane, then so are you." Hamilton couldn't argue that. "Well, are you going to help or not?" Jefferson asked.

On their way out of the house, Jefferson stopped by his closet and grabbed his entire collection of canes.

"Seriously dude? I think you might have a bit of an obsession."

"Don't dis the canes, Hamilton."

***

Hamilton's and Jefferson's outfit arrived the next day. Hamilton stood over Jefferson's shoulder as he cut open the box, revealing the shiny green fabric. He pulled it out and unfolded it, holding it up for Hamilton to see. "What'd you think?" he asked.

"I think it's ostentatious and from the 1700's."

"Well, I like it," he said, throwing it over his shoulder and into Hamilton's face. He cut open another box and pulled out his own.

"You know, I was wrong. Mine's not that bad," Hamilton started, looking at Jefferson's coat. "Yours is ostentatious and gaudy."

"And beautiful," Jefferson added.

"I can't believe you're making me wear this."

"You'll love it when you're wearing it in front of a crowd. You can thank me later."

"In your dreams."

"You know you love me," Jefferson crooned

"No, I hate you with the deepest of passions."

Jefferson hung up the clothes and decided to make some food, leaving Hamilton in the living room dreading the day he was born.

**\----**


	10. Government Refuted

 

The night before everything was set to go down was a rough night for both of them. Jefferson screamed himself awake in the middle of the night. He was and making himself some tea to calm his nerves when he heard Hamilton stumble out of his room, Jefferson made another cup and handed it to him without a word. There was an understanding between them that neither of them talked about.

Jefferson settled into a chair and Hamilton curled up in the corner of the couch, they sipped their tea and watched the clock tick. Many nights had passed between them like this, sleepless. Jefferson had nights like this before the horrors that he and Hamilton went through, but never as frequently. Hamilton was just the same. Everyone had their own hidden horrors, they just happened to share this one.

That's what happens you fight for something you believe in. The trick was not breaking. Never break, because once you do, they win. Don't let them win. Never let them win.

"Do you think it will get better?" Hamilton asked suddenly, quietly, breaking the silence, "After all this is over? Will it be worth it?"

"I don't know," Jefferson said softly, "I don't know."

***

The sun rose, Jefferson and Hamilton rose from their seats with it. Today was the day where their lives were thrown back into the nightmare that is war. They were both asking themselves if they could do it, handle several more years of toil and bloodshed, stay sane through it all, knowing that that is exactly what they'd be going through before it even happened. It didn't matter though because they had to. It was what they believed in so they would fight, no matter what happened, they would fight with everything they had.

So they donned the outfits Jefferson had ordered. Hamilton looked in the mirror, Jefferson was right, it looked pretty good on him, not that he'd ever admit it. He walked out into the hallway only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight Jefferson. The man looked like a God, a God that didn't give a shit about anything or anyone else. A God who was about to walk out into the world and smite anyone who got in his way. And in a way, he was. That's exactly what this was about, smiting the entire governmental forces. 

Jefferson turned and walked toward Hamilton, a grin plastered on his face, "See? Now, what did I tell you? You look great! Not as great as me, but still fantastic."

"I never expected it to be so reinforced," Hamilton said, he could feel the Kevlar that lined parts of the clothing, protecting him mostly from knives, and the bulletproof chest piece that fit slimly to his body.

"I told you needn't worry about that. Now, for the rest," Jefferson said, handing Hamilton over the weapons he was to conceal.

"Where am I to put these?"

"Literally anywhere. It has places to conceal anything everywhere. I would say you could hide a tank, but I think that might be a bit overkill."

Hamilton started tucking things away, Jefferson was right, there were compartments everywhere. How much time did he put into designing these? What had the world come to, to make these necessary? It was sad. Hamilton looked forward to the day he could walk down the street without having to have anything to defend himself. "What about you?" Hamilton asked, eyeing Jefferson's outfit, looking for any sign of anything concealed.

"Already done. Amazing right? Can't see a thing." Jefferson scooped up his cane and twirled it in his hand. "Shall we?" he gestured toward the door. The marched out the door with every possibility of never walking back through it again. They knew the game plan, tried to think of every obstacle, but that fact of the matter was, they had no clue what was going to happen today.

There was going to be rebel rally. All the people that still wanted to fight were going to be there, trying to convince all those who had given up to fight on in Hamilton's and Jefferson's name. Little did those people know that they would actually show up themselves. But there was an extremely strong possibility that the government would show up and break it up. Not just break it up, but arrest people and turn it into an all-out bloodbath.

Jefferson and Hamilton hoped to avoid that. But anything could happen at this point. This was war.

Jefferson hated it.

Hamilton and Jefferson couldn't just walk into the rally, obviously, people would recognize them immediately and that would ruin everything. Occasions like this had to be done with flair. It's not every day you get to come back from the dead. It had to memorable. People had to be inspired. If they weren't, they wouldn't fight. Jefferson and Hamilton couldn't take down the oppression oligarchy by themselves, they had to have support.

They had to give the rebellion a jump start.

That's why their outfits were concealed under bland, heavy clothing, so they would blend in and be able to sneak wherever they wished. Hoods covered their heads, which was extremely important for Jefferson who's hair was the most defining trait of his. Sunglasses hid their faces. One thing they looked was conspicuous, but every looked like that these days, especially when you were going to an illegal rebel rally.

When they arrived, there were already lots of people milling about, waiting for the fun to start. There was a raised platform at the center and people surrounded it, their numbers rapidly growing. Hamilton and Jefferson took up their positions and waited.

It was dark out, nighttime, a single beam of light illuminated a person on stage, a man dressed in dark attire. His voice roared into a microphone. "Hello, people of the Capitol!" He started walking rapidly around the stage, the light following him. "Can you hear me!" he yelled, getting a massive roar from the crowd. "We all know why we're here, right?" his voice called to the crowd with enthusiasm, he was working them up. "We're here, at the heart of the nation, so the government can hear us loud and clear!" Cheers. "Let them hear you!" he shouted, managing to get the crowd to roar louder.

He waited for the crowd to go silent. "Now, we all know why we're here today," he said solemnly. "The people have lost so much. So much. And recently, we have lost two great people to the tyranny of the government. Two of the greatest men the world has seen. We all know what they stood for. We all know who they are. Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton. We will mourn them forever. But right-"

Another voice cut over the speaker, "Y'all have forgotten, haven't you?"

The crowd looked around for the source of the voice, the man on stage whipped his head around as well, looking for whoever spoke, but the stage was still dark, spotlights were sweeping over the stage in search, but could find no one. A different voice echoed from the speakers, "The number one rule of the rebellion,"

"Never," the first voice said.

"Ever," said the second voice.

"Give."

"The government."

"What they want!" both voices declared simultaneously. Spotlights centered on two people on opposites sides of the stage, dressed in bright colors. The man in magenta leaned on his cane, feet crossed over each other, smiling at the crowd. The other man in green stood, arms uncrossed and spreading wide as he swept into a dramatic bow. Half the audience cheered wildly while the other half looked around confused, with no idea what was going on.

They both strode forward and clapped the man in black on man and wrapped their arms around his shoulders, Hamilton on one side and Jefferson on the other. Jefferson looked over the crowd before looking down at the man trapped between him and Hamilton. "Young man, what's your name?" he asked.

"Luke Whetherfield," he responded.

"Wonderful name, Whetherfield," Jefferson grinned, "Now, you have to believe me when I say that I'm truly sorry that we'd crashed the party, but we just had to be here to show our support. Now, tell me Whetherfield, have you ever met those two fabulous people you spoke of?"

"I never had the honor," Whetherfield replied.

"That's too bad, now you'll never get the chance," Hamilton said sadly. "Now Whetherfield, we have one more question for you before we let you get back to the party," Hamilton paused. "Do you know who we are?"

"No idea," he said, getting irritated at the strangers' presence.

"I don't think I could have written a better eulogy for myself," Jefferson said, breaking away and walking around the stage, Hamilton doing the same. "What about you Hamilton?" he asked, looking to Hamilton.

"I dunno, I'm pretty gifted with words, Jefferson," Hamilton replied. Both of them grinned at the crowd as everyone screamed and roared and cheered endlessly. Whetherfield spun and gawked at the two as they both swept into dramatic bows to the crowd.

"My God," Whetherfield whispered, the words still catching in the headset he wore. He collapsed to the stage floor, landing in a sitting position as he stared speechlessly at the two that appeared like a miracle before them.

"Now, I'm disappointed in the lot of you!" Jefferson said over the crowd, which quieted to hear his words. "For two reasons," he said, raising two fingers in the air. "One, half of you didn't recognize me! What's with that?"

"And two," Hamilton took over, "You gave up! Let the Governmentals come back and undo everything we did!"

"Well, maybe not everything," Jefferson relented.

"You forgot rule 1!" Hamilton said.

"What's rule one?" Jefferson asked the audience.

"Never give the government what they want!" The replied in earnest.

"They wanted us dead," Jefferson said.

"But are we?" Hamilton asked.

"No!" the audience responded.

"Hang on!" another man yelled, climbing up on stage and stealing Whetherfield's headset. "Just one moment!" he shouted. "How do we know this is really Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton? They've been missing months. Disappeared without a trace. How can we be sure you're really them?"

"Please," Jefferson scoffed, "Can anyone other than me pull off this magenta suit?"

"What's your name?" Hamilton asked.

"Seabury. Samuel Seabury," he replied.

"Hey, Jefferson, ever heard of a Samuel Seabury?" Hamilton asked.

"I don't believe I have."

Hamilton turned his attention back to Seabury, "Now you see, Jefferson here memorized the name of every person in the rebellion. He doesn't know you, you know what that means?"

"No, wait, I think I have heard of him," Jefferson cut in, "yeah, he's a Govey. What's a Govey doing here?"

"Promoting sanity," Seabury replied.

"Oh?" Hamilton asked, "And what is this sanity you speak of?"

Seabury began, "Heed them not, I say, have you all forgot? The blood, the horror, knocking on our doors or cocking back hammers, explosions, graffiti with improper grammar?"

"Someone throw him in the slammer, Head Govey's in Tahiti, there's no option for treaty when things so neatly fell apart. This is a brand new start. The art."

"-Drop the annoying glamor."   
"-Drop the annoying glamor. Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution,"

"I'm sorry, I think you stammered."

"Don't let them lead you toward this pollution! Sentences craftily crafted delusions!"

"Solutions?"

"Pollution!"

"Inclusion!"

"Delusions I say!"

"-Everyday you'll pay for them to have their way!"  
"-Everyday you'll pay for them to have their way!"

"Stand down!"

"Rise up!"

"Stand down!"

"Rise up!"

"-Heed them not-"  
"-He'd have you rot!"

"-The blood, the horror, knocking on our doors-"  
"-The blood, the horror, knocking on our doors are already cocking back hammers, I've already been in the slammer. Damn the grammar! Rise up!"

"Stand down! Stand your ground!"

"Stand your ground and fight!"  
"Stand your ground and end this blight!"

"Don't let them lead you toward this pollution! Sentences craftily crafted delusions!"

"Let them lead us to our executions? Show me a better solution."

"I pray they show you some mercy."

"Shall I practice my curtsy?" Hamilton asked.

"For shame!"

"For the revolution!" Hamilton cheered.

"For shame!"

"For the revolution!" everyone roared.

"Heed-" Seabury began again.

"If you repeat yourself again, I'm going to scream."

"Sentences craftily crafted-"

"I'll laugh when you're drafted."

"Alexander-" Jefferson cut in, looking at something beyond the crowd.

"Not now Jefferson, I'm dragging this guy."

There was a flash in the distance, followed by a pop. "Alexander!" Jefferson screamed, tackling him to the ground right as something collided with the stage and exploded.

**\----**


	11. New Faces

 

The first thing Hamilton knew was that he was slamming into the stage floor as he was tackled by a wall of pure muscle. AKA Thomas Jefferson. The next, there was an explosion and Jefferson's body was ripped from on top of him and flung across the stage. Hamilton was back on his feet in an instant. Lots of people were screaming and running, even more, however, were pulling out makeshift weapons and pistols, ready for a fight, but Hamilton's only focus was on finding Jefferson. Hamilton located him instantly, he was about twelve feet away, stumbling to his feet.

Alive.

Good, now Hamilton could kick some serious ass.

Before he could do much, there was a ring of people around him and Jefferson. He tapped someone on the shoulder, "What are you doing?" he asked, anger rising in his voice.

"Protecting the most important people here," she responded.

Before Hamilton could say anything else, Jefferson was next to him and addressing the lady, "What's your name?"

"Schuyler. Angelica Schuyler,"

"Schuyler? Awesome, lovely to meet you, darlin, can you let us out of this circle now?"

"Nope."

"It's important."

"Too bad."

Jefferson sighed and walked to the other side of the circle and tapped someone else on the shoulder while Hamilton tapped his foot impatiently. "Hello, what's your name?" Jefferson asked when the man turned and looked at him.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Jefferson! Je m'appelle Lafayette!"

"Nouveau en Amérique? _(New to America?)_ " Jefferson asked, easily switching to French. "Bienvenue, vous êtes juste à temps pour la révolution. _(Welcome, you're just in time for the revolution._ "

"C'est la raison pour laquelle je suis venu _(It's the reason I came)_ ," Lafayette said happily.

"Génial _(Great)_ ," Jefferson said, "Eh bien, mon ami et moi devons sortir de ce cercle. Voulez-vous nous laisser sortir s'il vous plaît? _(Well, my friend and I have to get out of this circle. Would you let us out?_ "

"Non. _(No.)_ "

"Okay, that's it." Jefferson stalked over to the smallest person in the circle, picked him up out of the way, nodded to Hamilton, "Okay, let's go." Moved out of the circle and set him back down where he was standing. "Thank you very much for your cooperation," Jefferson said as he walked away.

The burly man standing next to the guy that got picked up looked over and asked, "Burr, did you just get picked up and moved out of the way by Thomas Jefferson?"

"Shut up, Mulligan," came the response.

"Hamilton! Grab the rocket launcher!" Jefferson shouted as he ran off before the circle could trap them again.

"Wait, did he just say rocket launcher?" Mulligan asked.

"That he did," Burr replied.

"You grab the machine gun!" Hamilton yelled back, running off in the opposite direction.

"Machine gun?!?!?" Mulligan said in disbelief.

"I'm starting to think they came with a plan," another person chimed in.

"Laurens," Burr greeted.

Hamilton yelled over to Jefferson as he hefted a rocket launcher onto his shoulder, "We gotta steal that tank before they use all of the ammo!"

"Merde(Shit)," Lafayette swore.

"Fuck, I am not missing this," Laurens said, abandoning the now useless circle and chasing after Hamilton and Jefferson. Mulligan, Lafayette, and Burr followed behind.

Hamilton and Jefferson met up after grabbing all they needed only to find themselves surrounded by five other people. "Who are you and why are you here?" Another person pushed someone aside and joined the group as well.

"I'm John Laurens," a freckled face guy said, pointing to himself.

"Hercules Mulligan."

"Aaron Burr."

"James Madison."

"Angelica Schuyler."

The last one took a deep breath, " Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette,"

"Shit dude," Jefferson swore, "I'm sticking with Lafayette like you said earlier."

"What are you all doing here?" Hamilton asked, getting to the point.

"Helping you steal that tank," Laurens said.

Jefferson looked at Hamilton and shrugged, "I'll get more supplies." He stood up and left, returning a moment later with an armload of stuff. He started passing out grenades like candies.

"Where did you get all this stuff?" Madison asked before breaking into a fit of coughing.

"Are you okay?" Jefferson asked, handling several other weapons.

"I'm fine."

"You sure you're okay to fight?"

"I may be small, but I'm full of spite and murderous intent."

"Oookay, great, well here's an extra grenade, don't kill our own guys, and try not to destroy any buildings," Jefferson instructed, patting Madison on the back.

"There went all the fun," Mulligan complained.

"Dude, we are stealing a tank, no complaining," Lafayette said.

Hamilton gave them the rundown of how the plan was going to work, with modifications to allow for the extra people. It wasn't long before they were stealing behind enemy lines, avoiding the gunfire that popped from both sides of the conflict. The group split off as their positions came up.

Hamilton stood at the ready, waiting for the signal.

BOOM

There it was.

Lafayette fired a rocket right into the mass of the governmental forces, Hamilton took off running, rifle in hand. The darkness would conceal him for the most part, and all the men that had been surrounding the tank rushed forward to help those in the front lines after the rocket hit. Twenty paces. Laurens met up with him, just like they planned. An enemy soldier spotted them, Hamilton fired his gun expertly, the soldier dropped like a stone and they leaped over his body on the way to the tank.

Ten paces. They were doing great.

BOOM

That would be Lafayette's second round. Everything was going according to plan. Another soldier in Hamilton's path, this time Laurens beat him to the shot. Another enemy down.

Rapid fire came from the opposite end of the field than Lafayette. That would be Mulligan with the machine gun providing Lafayette cover. Good.

Five paces.

Hamilton looked up at the tank he had to scale. His hand touched the metal.

"Stop right there," a cool voice said from behind him, racking their pistol. Hamilton and Laurens froze.

BANG

A body dropped. Hamilton and Laurens immediately started climbing again. That was either Jefferson or Madison with a sniper. Laurens made it to the top first and forced open the lid, Hamilton dropped in smoothly, taking out the first person he saw before his feet even hit the ground. That left three. They all turned toward him in shock. Two more down. The last one was wide-eyed and frozen in terror. Hamilton aimed and pulled the trigger. Laurens dropped in beside him.

"Help me shove them out the escape hatch," Hamilton instructed.

"You missed Angelica throwing molotavs," John said as they got to work.

"Shame."

With that done, Hamilton and Laurens got the thing moving. They wouldn't have much in the way of firepower until Angelica or Burr got in. The next second, Burr's feet hit the ground. He stood back up out of the hatch, threw a grenade and crouched back down.

"Burr, machine gun," Hamilton said.

"Can I drive?" Laurens asked excitedly.

"Sure." Hamilton moved.

Angelica dropped in next, "Hey! Fancy seeing you all here."

"I heard you were having some fun with molotavs," Hamilton smirked.

"Ran out of grenades," she shrugged. Hamilton laughed before pointing her to where she'd be loading the guns. Hamilton ran everyone through the steps of how to work everything before he recalibrated the radio to their own channel.

"How's it looking out there?" Hamilton asked, completely throwing radio protocol out the window.

"Bloody," Jefferson replied.

"Steer us out of here," Hamilton replied.

Lafayette's feet smacked against the floor as he landed, quickly followed by Mulligan. "It's getting heavy out there guys," Mulligan said.

"Any way to provide cover for the rebels?" Lafayette asked.

Hamilton looked to Angelica and Burr, they both smiled back. Angelica loaded a round, Burr aimed and fired.

"Okay, that should be good, we gotta get out of here before they try and do what we just did," Hamilton said.

Jefferson's voice came over the line with instructions for where to go. Hamilton followed them to the letter. Turns out, Laurens is good at driving tanks. Who knew? Before long, they were driving a tank down the highway. Cars were frantic to move out their way. It was a sight to behold. Hamilton prayed Jefferson and Madison got out of there alright.

**\----**


	12. Dreams or Memories?

 

Hamilton could now officially say he had a tank parked in his basement. Okay, maybe not his basement, but the hotel's. You should've seen the valet's face when Hamilton tossed him the keys and told him he'd give him a great tip if he parked it without getting a scratch on it. And keep it a secret of course.

That valet and Jefferson actually knew each, they'd been friends for a long while, so Jefferson knew he was safe with him. His name was Henry.

Jefferson and Hamilton were going to have to move now though, but that could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, the eight of them were having a party in their hotel suite.

"I can't believe you guys came back from the dead AND THEN STOLE A TANK!" Laurens slurred, sloshing alcohol onto himself.

Hamilton laughed, "Had to come back with a BOOM!!" he shouted, imitating a tank's cannon fire.

"Spare me the puns," Burr said.

"Aww, come on Burr," Lafayette slung an arm around him, "Lighten up, we're having a party." Burr smiled and finished off his glass. 

"Where did you get a rocket launcher?" Mulligan asked loudly, "I mean, who shows up to a rally with a ROCKET LAUNCHER?"

"Me," Jefferson smirked, "I got all the fun toys. I debated bringing the flamethrower."

"Now that would have been mine," Eliza said, "You know, if you bothered to invite me."

Hamilton smiled awkwardly. He and Eliza weren't on the best of terms currently, they had gotten divorced about two years ago, but they seemed to be getting along just fine tonight. Angelica was throwing hopeful glances every now and then. Hamilton and Angelica had already worked out all their problems concerning the divorce, so Hamilton wasn't worried about having his face clawed off...again.

"I can't believe you all trapped us in a circle. What was with that?" Hamilton asked.

Madison shrugged, "I dunno, I was too busy being trampled to death. I heard that you picked up Burr though, Jefferson."

Jefferson laughed and Burr scowled. "No one was moving and I had a tank to steal."

The night dragged on and as people started to get tired, Jefferson made sure to get them a ride home. He didn't want to have to worry about waking up the house from a nightmare. It was better that he and Hamilton didn't have to go through explaining any of that to their new met friends. It was bad enough that they knew about each other.

Secretly Jefferson and Hamilton were glad that the other knew, it was nice to have that mutual understanding and be able to sit up all night in silence and not be entirely alone. Plus there was the fact that they didn't worry as much about being kidnapped in the middle of the night with the other one there. Not that they didn't worry about it, just not as much. They both slept with guns under pillows just in case.

Call them paranoid.

In truth, they were. Paranoid about everything. Every creak, every thump, every shift of the curtains had at least one of them patrolling the place, if not both. 

So Jefferson made sure that everyone went home. He and Hamilton crashed as soon as the last person left.

Jefferson's bed was soft and welcoming, he was too exhausted to care if he was going to have nightmares, he just wanted to sleep. Thankfully, his dreams weren't nightmares, but they were sporadic and blurry.

_A book flew at him, too fast for him to dodge, it smashed into his face, sending sprawling across the floor._

_"Shit," he mumbled, picking himself up and wiping the blood from his nose. "Has anyone ever told you, you have an outrageously strong throwing arm, because Jesus-fucking-Christ," Jefferson said, wiping more blood away._

_~~_ _~_

_Jefferson flopped down onto his bed, "So nice to have my bed back." Even as he said the words, he knew they weren't true. He'd give up his bed for the rest of his life just to keep that person around._

_What person? Who?_

_"I'm off then," someone said. A blurry figure picked up a case and headed out of the room._

_That person. That's the person. Who are they?_

_Jefferson leaped out of bed and followed closely behind. They wouldn't really leave, would they? They were going to turn around any second and change their mind. The person flung open the front door and stepped out. They really were leaving. They turned around to face Jefferson. Their words sound like a million miles away._

_Jefferson fought with his mind to see the person more clearly, hear the person more clearly._

_"Well, this'll be the last time we will probably ever see each other since we don't work together anymore. Glad to be rid of you," the person said, turning to leave, but then they stopped and looked down at their arm, then looked at Jefferson. Why wasn't he going?_

_Jefferson looked down at the man's arm. He was grasping it. His hand moved on its own and grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving. Now what was Jefferson going to do? He looked into the person's eyes, even though he couldn't really make them out past the murkiness of the dream. "I'll be glad to be rid of you too," Jefferson found himself saying, a sad smile forcing its way across his lips. Then his fingers his under the person's chin, pulling them closer. Their lips met for just the briefest of moments and then Jefferson was slamming a door shut and sinking to the ground._

_Jefferson was struggling to remember the person's face, the person's voice, their name, anything. But every detail danced away just before he could grab it and pry its secrets open._

***

Hamilton lay in his own bed, unknowingly having a very similar dream. 

_"So you're going back to your wife?" someone asked from behind him,  watching him as he threw clothes into a case._

_Why was he packing again? Oh, right, he was going back to his wife. That didn't make sense, Hamilton was divorced. Why would he be going back?_

_"Of course!" he found himself saying, "What did you think I was going to do? Live here for the rest of my life and throw things?" Hamilton's heart yearned for the person to say yes, that that was exactly what they expected, what they wanted._

_But instead they cried out happily, "Praise the Lord!" falling to their knees like they were praying, arms stretched toward heaven, "I thought I was going to be stuck with you forever!"_

_Hamilton's heart broke slightly. "Shut the fuck up," he snapped._

_"I didn't think I could stand another minute!" they went on, "Eating my food, stealing my bed, and that mouth that just never. stops. talking. Jesus, I thought I was going to have to gag him."_

_Hamilton had a book in his hand and before he knew it, he was chucking it into that person's face. The person went careening to the floor. Hamilton felt bad for a split second before he decided that he actually didn't feel that bad._

_"Shit," the person mumbled, picking themselves up and wiping blood from his nose. Okay, maybe Hamilton felt a little bit bad. "Has anyone ever told you, you have an outrageously strong throwing arm, because Jesus-fucking-Christ," the person swore, wiping more blood away._

_Hamilton smirked, "I thought you said that_ I'm  _the one that never stops talking?"_

_~~_

_"I'm off then," Hamilton announced, picking up his case heading out of the room. Stop me. Call me back. Do something, just don't let me go back._

_The person leaped from the bed and followed Hamilton downstairs and to the door which Hamilton flung open. Grab my arm. Something. Anything. Just make me stay._

_Hamilton turned and faced the person in one last attempt to see if they would tell them to stay. Their face was blurry and Hamilton couldn't make out emotions, but he was sure that it solemn, but a smile stretched across his lips, so maybe it wasn't. "Well, this'll be the last time we probably ever see each other since we don't work together anymore," Hamilton stated, buying time, but he had nothing left to stall with. This was goodbye. "Glad to be rid of you," he finished, turning away to leave._

_But then a strong hand clamped around his arm. Hamilton turned back to the person, looked at his arm then into the eyes of the one who held him back, even though he couldn't see them very well, he was sure they were the most beautiful eyes to ever exist._

_The person looked unsure of themselves for a moment before the look disappeared. A sad smile followed by his murky voice, "I'll be glad to be rid of you too." No. Hamilton's heart wept, don't let that be all. Don't let me leave._

_Fingers were under his chin, pulling him closer, lips met his and his heart melted, but then it was gone, too quick for him to do anything at all, not even kiss back. The door slammed in his face. Hamilton stood there for a solid minute before he finally turned and left, knowing that would be the last time he ever saw the person who stole, then broke his heart._

Hamilton woke to his heart pounding in his chest. Those words.  _Has anyone ever told you, you have an outrageously strong throwing arm, because Jesus-fucking-Christ._ He knew those words. He said them himself to Jefferson not that long ago when they were brawling in the living room. Those were the exact words. Where did they come from? Who was that person in his dream?

Hamilton got out of bed and walked into the living room where he found Jefferson, he must've had another nightmare. Hamilton claimed the usual spot in the corner of the couch, he noticed a cup of hot tea waiting for him. He scooped it up gratefully.

"How'd you know I'd be up tonight?" Hamilton asked softly, not wanting to disturb the silence too much.

"I didn't, I just thought you might and that you might want a cup of tea," Jefferson replied.

"Oh, well thanks."

Jefferson nodded in reply and they both lapsed back into silence.

**\----**


	13. Generals and Soldiers

 

Jefferson and Hamilton randomly decided it was time to leave in the middle of the night, while they were thinking about the strange dreams they had. They both got up and packed, Hamilton finishing before Jefferson because he didn't have a small armory to worry about. So he decided to help with that.

Once everything was packed up, they made their way to the lobby, checked out, and wait for the valet to deliver their tank. It was probably better they decided to do this in the middle of the night rather than in the morning like they had intended. Imagine the traffic.

They threw in the bags with several heavy thuds and climbed in after them. Then the drove down the highway, getting out of town as fast as possible.

"This reminds me of Grand Theft Auto," Hamilton said randomly.

"What?"

"You know, steal a tank then drive down the highway and blow up cars. Now if only we had the cheat that could make it fly. That'd be a lot of fun. Or the one where if you bump into other cars, they explode."

"You're a very violent person," Jefferson commented.

"Where are we going anyway?" Hamilton asked.

"Rebel HQ, we've got to drop off this tank. I'm tired of having to worry about valets scratching the paint."

"Makes sense," Hamilton nodded. "Is Washington at HQ?"

"I thought he retired after the first war?" Jefferson asked.

"I don't think it entirely ended," Hamilton replied.

"Still, didn't he retire?"

"I dunno. Maybe. But that can't be right, he's so good for the cause."

"He's getting old, Hamilton, he deserves retirement."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Hamilton pulled out his phone to pass the time and stumbled across the news. "Hey Jefferson, we seem to be all over the news."

"Even the ones controlled by the government?"

"Yeah, our faces are plastered everywhere."

"Well, the rally definitely got publicity."

"Except now we'll be recognized wherever we go."

"Not much new there," Jefferson said, "Everyone knew me back in D.C."

"But I mean  _everyone_. Store clerks, train ticketors, taxi drivers,  _everyone."_

"So we lay low for a bit, let it die down."

"Jefferson, we are running a rebellion, we can't just go into hiding."

"Isn't publicity a bitch?"

"Yep, can't lay low without the rebels losing steam. Can't curse through the middle, or we'll get caught when no one's looking, just like the first time."

"So we get loud. Blow shit up."

"Steal another tank?"

"What was that you were saying about flying tanks? Why not find ourselves an airplane? Or better yet, an aircraft carrier."

"You're insane."

"I thought we discussed this already."

"Yeah, and it ended with us agreeing the whole world was insane, but you're beyond insane. You're psychotic."

"Good thing you are too, otherwise nothing we do would ever work," Jefferson smirked.

"I'm going to die."

"Perhaps."

"Real optimistic."

"I try."

***

They pulled their tank into rebel headquarters, pushed open the hatch and were instantly greeted with enthusiastic cheers. Jefferson climbed out and waved to the crowd, Hamilton emerged a moment later and they both bowed before jumping down and coming face to face with none other than Charles Lee.

"Lee," Hamilton grit his teeth, "What are you doing here? Didn't you get discharged?"

"Thanks to you, yes, but they won't let me leave since I know so much sensitive information," he replied, his tone cold.

"They should have you locked up in irons," Hamilton sneered, pushing past him and continuing on his way. Jefferson looked between the two, obviously missing something.

"What was that?" he asked, catching up to Hamilton.

"Lee was discovered to be a traitor right before the end of the first war, he'd been feeding intelligence to the government for a long time. It's one of the reasons we were having such a hard time."

"Ah. That makes sense."

"I hate him more than you, T. J," Hamilton said, referring back to their pamphlet war that both of them had completely forgotten about after their time in prison.

"If I'm going to be on your enemy list, I demand to be shown the proper respect I'm due and be number 1. Nobody can outdo Thomas Jefferson."

"You're an insufferable prick."

"Ah, but I'm the number 1 insufferable prick and that's all that matters."

Hamilton rolled his eyes and stopped a nearby person, "Where's General Nathanael Greene?" he asked. Hamilton was the leader of the New York forces, and Greene was Georgia. The man pointed at a large tent not too far off and then hurried on his way.

Hamilton and Jefferson entered the tent, "General Greene," Hamilton greeted upon entry, catching the man's attention.

Jefferson tossed him the keys to the tank as he turned around, "Brought you a present," he said.

Greene smiled and embraced Hamilton in a hug. "When I heard news of your death-"

"Believe me," Hamilton said, holding up a hand, "We were just as shocked as you."

"We came by to drop off the hunk of explosive metal and check in, see if there were any commands available. I've come to enlist," Jefferson explained.

"Big plans to fulfill? Tanks not enough? It's about time Jefferson." Greene asked, "I imagine after what you two went through, you probably want to burn a few buildings to the ground. Washington will be thrilled to know you're finally joining us."

"Buildings. Cities. Armadas. Who knows," Jefferson commented. "Just crossing things off the bucket list, cause I have one of those now."

Green laughed. "No, there isn't much to do yet, check in with your regiment, make sure they're in order, then you can take off if nothing comes up. But be on call. Jefferson, you should probably talk to Washington for assignment. I believe Virginia is in need of a command. And I'm sure Washington is anxious to see you, Hamilton."

"Of course, sir," Hamilton said.

"Washington hasn't retired?" Hamilton asked.

"He did, but he got pulled back in when all this started up again," Greene explained.

Hamilton and Jefferson said their goodbyes and headed straight for Washington's tent. Upon entry, Hamilton was immediately suffocated by a hug, thankfully, it was short lived. Jefferson nodded his greetings. "Sir."

"Jefferson, I hear you and Hamilton stole a tank. I didn't imagine you were the type."

Jefferson smiled, "I may not have enlisted in the last war, but I did fight."

Washington nodded. "Are you saying you're offering your services?"

"That's correct."

"Excellent! That's good to hear. The Virginian force is already well acquainted with you so I see no reason not to give you that command."

"You honor me."

"Go see them and then you can come back for more debriefing." Jefferson nodded and went to inspect his men, leaving Washington and Hamilton to catch up. They'd be in the barracks, probably.

As soon as Jefferson left Washington hugged Hamilton again. "Tell me everything."

Jefferson walked inside and looked around. No one noticed him at first, so he plopped down at a card table with several other people and said, "Deal me in, would ya?"

They looked up and grinned. "Jefferson! Sir! It's great to see ya! How long had it been?" asked a guy named Connor.

"A year-ish I think? Lost track," Jefferson said.

"Did you give them Goveys what they deserved?" asked Rachel.

"I'm nowhere near done," Jefferson replied.

"Heard you stole a tank in the middle of a rally battle and then drove it down the highway like a prize," O'Malley said.

"And then had a valet park it at my hotel."

Everyone burst out laughing.

After lots of catching up with every person there, which took hours, then he explained that he'd enlisted and was now their General. Which they all took really well, might even say happily. They went through the usual drills, Jefferson remembering exactly what he used to watch the men do whenever he'd visit. He studied this plenty and knew what to do, and anything that he didn't, he could ask Hamilton or Greene about.

**\--** **\--**


	14. Familiar Faces

 

Is it funny Hamilton could be in the middle of the rebel headquarters and still have nightmares about being kidnapped and thrown back in jail? Well, he did. It was even funnier when he went for a walk in search of a quiet place and when he found one, Jefferson was already there, with an extra cup of tea.

"I swear, it's like you always know I'm coming," Hamilton said, scooping up the tea and finding a place to sit.

"I'm psychic like that," Jefferson replied, staring off into space.

"If you're so psychic, can you tell me how this war is going to go?"

"Bloodily," Jefferson said, not moving in the slightest.

"Thanks." Silence. The sounds of drunk men shouting floated over to them. Hamilton did something he never did before, he asked the question, his voice barely more than a whisper, "What was it about?"

Jefferson's gaze focused on Hamilton's face, debating whether or not to tell him. After a moment he finally spoke, his gaze shifting to the mug in his hands. "They came into our cell, threw me to ground, shot you in the head, and then left your body there to slowly rot while I went insane."

"Oh," was all Hamilton said.

Jefferson took a drink of his tea. "What about you?"

Hamilton paused for a moment, unsure, but Jefferson shared so it was only fair. "They dragged me into the room with the one-way glass, except I was on the mirrored side this time. They handed me a gun and then threw you in there with me. Just the two of us, door locked. They said that I would go free if I shot you and if I didn't, we'd both starve to death."

"What'd you do?"

"Eventually, I shot you and then shot myself."

They both took another drink of their tea.

"I had one where they brought in Martha, my wife, she's gone now, but they brought her in with all our children, all of them except my little Martha, shot them all in the head right in front of me and then told me it was my fault for not giving them the information they wanted. Turned out, my little Martha was the one that pulled the trigger," Jefferson said.

Hamilton got up from his spot sat down next to Jefferson, wrapping a comforting arm around him. "They brought in Philip, my son, turned him into one of them to the point where he barely recognized me, then they had him shoot me."

Jefferson set aside his cup and dropped his head into his hand, ruffling his hair before sitting back up, Hamilton's arm fell away. "We should go back to our tents," he said simply, before picking up his cup and heading back the way he came, Hamilton following suit.

***

The next day, Hamilton and Jefferson were sitting around a war table discussing where and what they going to strike next when a lot of people burst loudly into the tent.

"Yo! If it isn't the walking dead!" Mulligan said by way of greeting.

"Dead on the inside maybe," Hamilton commented, earning a snicker from Jefferson and Madison.

"So melodramatic today," Laurens said, clapping Hamilton on the back, "Something got you down?" he grinned broadly.

"Yeah, the fact that I have to deal with a bunch of hooligans now," Hamilton grinned back, standing and wrapping Laurens in a friendly hug, before turning to everyone else only to find himself being hug tackled by Lafayette.

"What was it like when you drove the tank into the base?" Lafayette asked.

"Hilarious. Lots of cheers and shocked faces," Hamilton answered. While he was talking to Mulligan, Laurens, and Lafayette, Madison pulled up a chair next to Jefferson and watched him as he began outlining a detailed plan. It wasn't long before Burr joined them too. Jefferson reached a stopping point, threw down his pen and sat back with a sigh, smiling at the others. "I'm much better company anyway," he said, referring to Hamilton's little gathering.

"Quieter," Burr said.

"More fashionable," Jefferson remarked.

"Is currently sitting in chairs and not standing around endlessly," Madison added. Burr and Jefferson looked over at him.

"Get a cane to lean on," Jefferson suggested, "they work remarkably well. And stylish too." He plucked his up, laid it across his shoulders and rested his arms on it. Madison nodded like he was considering it.  Jefferson leaned over and jabbed Hamilton in the side with it, causing him to jump. "Plus, extended reach for bothering people who annoy you." 

Hamilton growled, snatched the cane away and threw it out the tent door. "Hey! That was rude," Jefferson complained. Laurens and Mulligan laughed. Jefferson grumbled to himself, but pulled another one from out of nowhere. "Fuck you guys."

"Where the fuck did you get another cane?" Madison asked.

"And where were you keeping it?" Burr question.

"Up his ass," Hamilton said, walking back over and reclaiming his seat, looking over the war table again. "You were thinking Pennsylvania, right?" he asked.

"Yep," Jefferson confirmed.

"Wait, I know this, this is scheming. What are you two cooking up now? Are we stealing another tank?" Laurens asked.

"Nope," Hamilton said, "We were thinking bigger."

"An airplane?" Mulligan guessed.

"Bigger," Hamilton said.

"A war elephant?" Lafayette guessed.

"Umm, no. Bigger," Hamilton said.

"What is it?" Laurens asked.

"An airship carrier."

"Fuck," Laurens swore, "You're on a suicide mission."

"Welp," Lafayette grinned, "I'm in."

"Yep, me too," Mulligan said.

"Fuck it, me too," Laurens joined.

"A carrier? Really?" asked Burr, looking between the two.

"Is that even possible?" Madison asked.

"Depending on how many toys you have," Jefferson grinned.

"Well, shit," Burr swore, "Might as well."

"I'm already dead inside, so it doesn't matter. I'm in too," Madison said.

"Should we invite Angelica too?" Laurens asked.

"She went off to England," Hamilton supplied.

"What about Eliza, she was itching to get her hands on a flamethrower," Mulligan said.

"She really shouldn't, she's got Philip to take care of," Hamilton replied.

"Okay, so the six of us then," Jefferson said, listing down all the names. "Gentlemen, we're going to steal a carrier and blow some shit up."

Everyone cheered.

**\----**


	15. We're All Mad Here

 

New recruits for the rebellion flooded into the ranks practically overnight. Apparently, Jefferson and Hamilton had quite the impact. They were rather proud of their work. But now they were no longer free to run off and do whatever they wanted, they had new recruits to train. They were split up by state and sent to their respective leader. Jefferson got the most because their stunt had been pulled in Virginia, so naturally, most of them came from there. He certainly had his work cut out for him.

There were extremely few from the western states for two reasons, one, they were so far away from the real conflict, and two, not that long ago, the nation split in two, much like the first civil war, but instead of north and south, it was east and west. The western states were their own nation now. The Eastern states liked to pretend it was still all one big nation, but it wasn't. There was the Western States of America and the Eastern States of America. They weren't very united anymore. So Jefferson was thankful for the few volunteers that did show up from places like Texas and Arizona or Idaho or anywhere over there. If they were being entirely honest, the United States actually split into three. The Eastern States, the Western States, and the Independent States. The W.S.A and the I.S.A were rather well off, it was the E.S.A that was having trouble.

But it was also hard to find a place to assign the people that came from outside the E.S.A since everything was pretty much set up by states, there wasn't person leading that state. They usually just got assigned to whoever got the least amount of new recruits.

Jefferson watched as his regiment took apart their guns and put them back together again. Every single screw came out before it went back together. That was the rule. Soldiers had to know their weaponry inside and out, that way if it jammed or broke on the battlefield, the soldier could deal with it accordingly. That or just snatch up a new weapon off a fallen body. Either way, you have to know how your weapons functioned before you even thought about wielding. Plus, it was important to disassemble guns every now and then and clean them thoroughly.

He also had to test their skills, see who had a natural knack for what and who could barely be called a soldier. Sadly, most of them had absolutely no idea how to properly handle a gun. Jefferson had to go through all the safety procedures of when handling weaponry before they could so much as look at a target.

When they finally weren't waving their guns around and trying to accidentally kill each other, Jefferson let them take a shot at their aim.

They all sucked.

Well, not all of them. There were a few that could actually hit the target, but there was one that grouped their shots tightly right in the fatal areas. "What's your name?" Jefferson asked. He had gone over the list of names of new recruits last night, memorizing each new addition, but he didn't have faces to put them to yet.

"Margarita, but everyone calls me Peggy."

"Peggy? You wouldn't happen to be a Schuyler, now would you?"

"Proudly, my brothers serve under General Hamilton. I feel bad for him, they're all a terrible shot."

"You know who's a terrible shot? Aaron Burr, couldn't hit a thing at that rally, so he just started chucking grenades."

Peggy laughed.

"So how did a New York woman like yourself end up in my Virginians?"

"Oh, I'm not really part of your men, sir, I just saw how terrible they were doing when I was walking by and decided to show them how it's done."

Jefferson burst into laughter, "Thank you for that, darling, but I think you should get back to your own regiment."

Peggy looked over his shoulder, "I don't think there's any need, my General is headed this way," she said pointing.

Jefferson turned around to find Hamilton approaching, assessing Jefferson's new recruits. "Wow, they're just as bad as mine," he snickered.

"Damn, I thought I had finally gotten rid of that mouth of yours," Jefferson sighed.

"I'm not so easy to get rid of. I came over to propose a skirmish in a couple days, give the men a taste of action. With all the other Generals too, of course."

"You hear that people!" Jefferson shouted to his soldiers, "Skirmish in a couple days so you better be able to hit something soon or you're dead!"

"That's one way to inspire," Hamilton commented.

"I like to think it's my ability as a leader paired with my southern charm."

"I think it's the motivation to be dismissed as soon as possible so they don't have to look at your ugly ass face anymore."

"At least they can see my face over the crowd, shorty."

"Asshole."

"Bastard."

"Skirmish, two days, be ready," Hamilton said, walking away, Peggy following behind.

***

They never got to that skirmish.

A day later, the new recruits were finally able to hit something. Kinda. Jefferson went to sleep that night thinking they had made some good progress. He woke up a couple hours later to screams and shouts.

He launched from his bed, threw on his reinforced outfit, grabbed his cane and ran out the door. He didn't have to worry about grabbing any weaponry, his clothes were already well stocked. What greeted him outside was a scene from a nightmare.

Hamilton emerged from his tent in a very similar manner. There were people running about or lying unmoving on the ground, scattered gunfire came from all directions, and explosions went off every now and then. Chaos.

"What's going on here?" Hamilton asked, snatching a person from the crowd.

"Governmental forces showed up in the middle of the night," he explained before running off again.

Shit. Hamilton ran for General Washington's tent. There were several generals already there, including Greene, but Jefferson was nowhere to be seen.

"Hamilton," Washington called before he could go searching for Jefferson, "Glad you made it. We need everyone we can get."

"What's the situation, sir?" Hamilton asked.

"Enemy forces surrounded the camp in the night. Currently, we're trapped. Our only option is to try and force our way out."

"Sir, the casualties-" Greene started.

"If you can think of another way, I'd be delighted to hear it," Washington interrupted.

"I think I might have a way," Hamilton said slowly, "A small team could slip out and break the enemy lines from behind. There'd need to be a distraction on the inside so the team on the outside could act with more freedom, but it could be done."

"How many?" Washington asked.

"Seven or so. I have specific people in mind."

"List them."

"Myself, Jefferson, Aaron Burr, James Madison, John Laurens, the Marquis de Lafayette, and Hercules Mulligan," Hamilton listed off.

"Two generals involved in this?" Greene asked, "We can't risk that."

"It's risk two generals or the entire army," Hamilton retorted. "Sir, it has to be these people, I've worked with most of them before to steal that tank in a very similar manner."

Washington studied him for a moment, he opened his mouth to answer right as Jefferson burst through the tent, "Sir! The regiments are forming up, they need their generals for orders," he informed.

"Jefferson, there's been a slight change of plans. Greene will take control of your and Hamilton's forces. You two have a mission. Hamilton will fill you in." Washington turned to Hamilton, "Take whatever people you need and make sure you come back. I need you alive."

"Yes, sir." Hamilton hurried from the tent, Jefferson following behind.

"Let me guess, we're modifying Plan Steal a Tank and turning it into Plan Rescue the Rebel Army by Some Insane and Utterly Impossible Miracle," Jefferson said as they walked through the chaos.

"Pretty much," Hamilton replied. "We need to find Mulligan, Lafayette, Burr, Madison, and Laurens."

"And Peggy," Jefferson added.

"Peggy?"

"Margarita Schuyler, AKA Peggy."

"Yeah, I know who she is, how do you know her?"

"She showed up and put all my new recruits to shame."

"Yeah, she does that, okay, Peggy too."

Jefferson and Hamilton agreed on a place to meet up and marched off to find the others. Jefferson found Peggy sharp shooting soldiers hidden in the trees with her single pistol. Lafayette was found rallying soldier to fight and shouting orders in the absence of his General. Jefferson had a harder time with Madison, but eventually, he found him balanced precariously in a tree, sniper in hand, picking off enemy soldiers.

Hamilton found Laurens first, carrying injured and dead soldiers to the makeshift hospital, walking through the haze of bullets, an open target, not caring about the risk to his own life as long as he got the injured men back to safety. Burr was standing out the top of the tank, throwing grenades left and right. The tank's cannon fired and Mulligan shouted in triumph. Burr was used this by now and had braced so he didn't fall, and resumed chucking explosive pineapples. Apparently, Mulligan was inside and running a tank by himself. Impressive. They made it to the rendezvous before Jefferson because he had to stop and grab his special stash of highly explosive and destructive things.

Jefferson's group of four finally arrive, arms full of stuff. "I still don't know where you get all this stuff," Mulligan said, shaking his head.

"I know people," Jefferson smirked.

Hamilton then proceeded to give a rundown of the plan.

"That's suicide," Burr stated.

"Utterly psychotic," Madison agreed.

"You guys are crazy," Lafayette added.

"Deranged," Mulligan said.

"Psychotic," Peggy agreed.

"Your minds are derailed," Laurens said.

"Naturally, I'm all for it," Lafayette said.

"Yep," Laurens chimed in.

"Of course," Mulligan responded

"As if there's another option," Burr said.

"We're all going to die anyway, why not?" Madison replied.

"Sounds like fun," Peggy grinned.

"Great," Hamilton grinned, "Let's get going.

**\----**


	16. Through the Lens

 

Why Jefferson was always handed a sniper, he didn't know. Was it his steady aim? It's not like his eyesight was all that great, he had glasses but he didn't need them all the time. Maybe it was being able to read a battlefield just like he could read which way a vote was going to go. Or maybe Hamilton just trusted him with his life, doubtful.

Jefferson had come through the first time when Hamilton and Laurens had just reached the tank and that soldier popped up out of nowhere. Jefferson took him down without a moment's hesitation.

Madison being a sniper made sense, the guy was too sick to be able to do much else, but he had deadly aim and killer instinct. Jefferson, on the other hand, could probably walk into a gunfight with a knife and still come out on top. Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. He didn't really mind being in the sniper position, just curious why he wasn't in a more dangerous one.

His scope traveled along the battlefield, they were waiting for Washington's distraction.

BOOM

A tank round exploded into the forest. That'll do it.

They had spent the first hour or so scouting out the weakest point in the enemy lines. It was a barricade, meant to hold back rebel forces. They couldn't just choose any random spot, it had to be a strong point. The weakest strong point. Trying to sneak out through the forest would just get everyone into an ambush. They had to take out a sizable chunk, break the circle. Kinda like when Jefferson picked up Burr so Hamilton and Jefferson could escape. This was the same concept, except instead of a small man that was just trying to keep Jefferson safe, it was a type of command post where there were dozens of guards set on killing him.

Really livens things up.

Movement. Enemy soldiers scurried for radios, trying to estimate the damage that was done to their ranks on the front lines. Washington struck a point three post down, drawing all the reinforcements there. Jefferson watched as people scrambled, shouting out orders. A small squad of soldiers disappeared into the trees heading to the post under fire.

BOOM

Washington launched another round. Good, keep 'em coming General. Any moment now, Hamilton and the others should be on the move. There. Jefferson saw a streak of camo zip along the fence line. Which group was it? They had split into three groups, Madison and Jefferson, the snipers, Hamilton and Laurens, Peggy and Mulligan, then Lafayette and Burr. Jefferson studied the figures of the two he had spotted, one was tall and the other short, both male. That would be Burr and Lafayette then. They moved stealthily, slipping into the makeshift compound with ease. Their surroundings were clear so Jefferson scanned for the others. There, two short males were sneaking in on the opposite end of the compound, Hamilton and Laurens.  They were also clear. Good. Just one team left to spot. It only took Jefferson a moment before he saw Peggy and Mulligan coming up the middle.

Everyone was accounted for. Jefferson watched the surroundings closely. A soldier approached Hamilton's position. He saw the two shrink into the shadows. Jefferson was only to fire if absolutely necessary. They didn't want to raise any alarms. The soldier stalked right by Hamilton's and Laurens' position, he let out his breath.  Jefferson switched to Mulligan and Peggy, a soldier rounded a corner and practically ran into them. Shit. Mulligan grabbed his face, covering his mouth before he could shout, Peggy kicked him where it would hurt most and then snatched the pistol away as his grip slackened. Mulligan jerk the poor guy's head to the side, slung the limp body over his shoulder and hid him in the bushes. Jefferson quickly moved on, checking on Burr and Lafayette. It took him a moment to spot them, they were so well concealed. Mental note, Burr is a sneaky little fuck.

The three groups quickly and quietly approached the target. Jefferson clicked his vision to thermal as they all broke inside the building, lugging the heavy backpacks with them. Everyone was now red shapes to Jefferson, but at least he could see in the building. This would be so much easier if he had x-ray vision.

The red blobs ran around the compound, hiding in closets Jefferson couldn't see but could guess because a soldier would walk right by them and not notice. This went on until finally, the three groups were climbing back out of the building in various ways. Windows, doors, whatever happened to available. Hamilton's team went for the radio tower while the other two went along the perimeter. Then they were all racing back to the cover of the trees.

Everything was going smoothly.

Jefferson watched the groups until they each crossed the invisible line that they had picked to let Jefferson and Madison know they could pack up their rifles and meet them at the rendezvous. Jefferson stood, stretching his stiff muscles after lying still for so long, slung his sniper over his shoulder, and took off.

***

Hamilton and the others reached the rendezvous safely and were waiting for Jefferson and Madison to make their appearance, Jefferson should get there first since he was stationed closer. Mulligan and Laurens were slouched against a tree, Peggy was whittling a stick in the branches. Burr stood, leaning against a tree, foot propped up on the bark and arms crossed, but he was smiling. Lafayette was lying on the ground, looking at the stars. Hamilton stood in the middle of the clearing, watching for Jefferson and Madison or any intruders. Each of them had a giant grin plastered across their faces. It felt good to have pulled that suicide mission off. He rubbed his face, accidentally smearing his face paint.

A twig snapped and everyone was instantly on their guard, weapons aimed. A figure emerged from the wood, hands raised, "It's me, don't shoot," Madison said. "I'd rather not have to try and walk back to camp with a bullet wound."

"Glad you made it!" Lafayette smile, clapping Madison on the back.

"Wait a minute," Hamilton said, "Where's Jefferson? He should have been here before you."

Madison looked around, "He's not here?"

"Shit," Hamilton swore, running his hand through his hair.

"You just got mud and face paint all in your hair, that's going to be a bitch to clean out," Jefferson said right in his ear.

"Fuck!" Hamilton jumped, spinning and throwing his fist at Jefferson's face.

Jefferson caught it in his hand easily, "You're guys' perimeter sucks."

"Shit, Jefferson, don't do that!" Hamilton cursed, yanking his hand back.

Jefferson raised his hands in defense, "Okay, okay, sorry. Now shall we finish what we started?"

"Hell yeah!" Laurens said enthusiastically. 

Jefferson pulled off his backpack and retrieved a small package and tossed it to Hamilton. "Your plan, you get the honors."

Hamilton grinned and opened the package as they all turned toward the general direction of the compound. He pulled out a remote, "Here's to hope we planted enough C4," and pushed a button.

Nothing happened. Hamilton pushed the button again. Still nothing. He tried again, jamming his thumb down. Silence.

"Well, shit-"

**_BOOM_ **

The ground rocked beneath their feet and a massive fireball rose above the tree line. A second later, scorching heat blasted their faces, causing them all to step back and try and block it with their arms.

"I think we used enough C4," Burr commented.

"I think we rose the alarm," Jefferson said.

**\----**


	17. Stitches and Seams

 

"Phase Two," Hamilton said, turning back to the squad, "Everyone knows where you're going to be?" Everyone affirmed. "Good, let's move."

The base may be completely gone, but they still had to get the rebel forces out, if they couldn't do that, then the entire mission would fail. Hamilton loaded a flare gun, just in case things fell through. Mulligan and Peggy had already disappeared, Burr and Lafayette just vanished into the trees. Jefferson walked up to him, clapped him on the shoulder, "Good luck Hamilton," he said before walking past him and disappearing into the shadows with Madison, sniper slung across his back. Hamilton watched him go.

"Ready?" Laurens asked.

"Yeah," Hamilton said distractedly, staring at where Jefferson disappeared, something didn't feel right. He shook his head to clear it, "Let's go." He and Laurens charged off into the trees. "Check in," Hamilton said into his radio.

"Bravo 1 on the move," Jefferson's voice came through.

"Bravo 2 on the move," Madison said.

"Charlie 1 on the move," Burr answered.

"Charlie 2 on the move," Lafayette said next.

"Delta 1 on the move," Mulligan replied.

"Delta 2 on the move," Peggy said.

Laurens didn't bother checking in because he was running right next to Hamilton, so there was no point. After several minutes, Hamilton and Laurens split up and headed for their positions on opposite sides of a road, they could still see each other. Their job was to keep any Governmentals from coming down this road to cut off the rebel retreat.

"Team Alpha, in position," Hamilton said over the radio. Team Charlie would have the same exact position as them but on the opposite side of the compound. Delta would be covering the path the rebels would be walking down any minute. Bravo team was split up, Madison was covering Charlie and Jefferson would be covering them, team Alpha.

"Team Charlie, in position," Lafayette said.

Hamilton waited for a couple more minutes before Peggy's voice finally came on, "Delta, in position." 

Several more minutes passed. "Bravo 1, in position," Jefferson said.

Almost immediately, Madison's voice followed, "Bravo 2, in position."

Everyone was ready. Now all they had to do was wait. The minutes stretched by. "Friendly contact, rebels have reached checkpoint Delta," Peggy informed.

Still no sign of enemy forces. Everything was going great.

***

Everything fell apart.

It seemed as if the entire governmental army descended on the roads protected by Charlie and Alpha, Hamilton and Laurens, and Lafayette and Burr. Charlie's defense broke. Their voices had come over the radio shouting that they were in full retreat. Hamilton's own defense broke minutes later, as his position was overrun, they were just so badly outnumbered.

Hamilton was running. He had no idea where Laurens was. Enemy soldiers stepped in front of him and then drop as a bullet tore through their skull. Jefferson was still holding up his end with his silenced rifle. "Delta, fall back and warn the rebels that they're about to be pinned on both sides," Hamilton shouted over the radio. Tree bark exploded next to Hamilton's face as a bullet embedded itself in the trunk.

Shit. That was close. Hamilton spun and dropped the figure that had fired at him and kept running. Plan B. Jefferson was in charge of Plan B. Plan Bravo. Hamilton just had to get clear before it could be executed. 

KABOOM

There it was.

Hamilton stumbled forward as the concussion wave hit him. He must've just gotten clear. That meant everyone else was too. Jefferson just detonated the charges planted along the two roads where the main force of the governmental army was marching on. Hamilton whooped as he continued to run. He glanced up at the hill that Jefferson would be sniping from, he could almost feel Jefferson watching him.

That's when a tank round exploded into the hill.

"No..." Hamilton changed course. He feet pounded against the ground, his breaths came fast and labored as he pushed himself at full speed up the hill. As he topped it, he saw Jefferson staggering to his feet, blood dripping down his face.

"That was rude!" he screamed at the enemy tank that could be seen a ways off. "Oh, hey Hamilton," he smiled, wiping the blood away uselessly as more streamed down. "What're you doing here?"

A whistling in the air announced another incoming round. "Get down!" Hamilton shouted, tackling Jefferson. The round soared over their heads and exploded a distance away.

"If you wanted a hug, you just had to say so," Jefferson rasped, trying to regain air to his lungs. Hamilton scrambled off.

"We gotta move," Hamilton said, pulling Jefferson to his feet.

"Where to?"

"I think anywhere will work, just not here."

***

They found a cave to stay in for the night.

"As far as caves go, I give it three stars," Jefferson said, shucking off his coat. Hamilton noticed it was the one he had designed for the rally and he did exactly what Hamilton did to his, dyed it a more earthy color that would blend in with the terrain. It seems neither of them thought such reinforced material should go to waste.

"Only three?" Hamilton asked, "But it's got the classic movie cave structure and everything."

"Be that as it may, the wind blows right into the mouth of the cave. It's like a wind tunnel. I hope you're in for a cold night."

The radio crackled to life, "Hamilton? Hamilton are you still alive," Laurens asked.

Hamilton reached for the radio and replied, "Yeah Laurens, I'm fine-"

"I'm fine too! Thanks for asking!" Jefferson called over his shoulder.

"What's your position?" Hamilton asked.

"Oh thank God. I found Peggy and Mulligan," Laurens listed off their coordinates.

"Okay, try and find your way back to the main force in the morning, but for now, feel free to have a slumber party," Hamilton said.

"I better be invited to this party," Lafayette's voice came on.

"I'm good," Burr's voice cut in, "I'm happy where I'm at thank you.

"Burr, Lafayette! Glad to hear from you! Is Madison there too?" Hamilton asked

"Yeah, yeah, he's here. He's not doing too well though. I think he's sick."

"I'm always sick you miscreant, look at yourself!" Madison yelled from the background, "You got shot through the leg, Lafayette!"

"Tis' but a flesh wound," Lafayette said.

"You got shot?" Hamilton asked.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Lafayette said good heartily.

"You can't walk," Burr said, "Madison and I practically carried you here."

"Okay, okay, just look after yourselves. Get some sleep. Don't waste the radio battery," Hamilton said by way of dismissing everyone and closing the conversation.

"Well, no one can't say they're not dedicated to our cause after this," Jefferson commented.

Hamilton looked over at him, "You've got blood all over your face."

"Tis' but a flesh wound!' Jefferson cried, imitating Lafayette. "I'm fine. I think it stopped bleeding," he said, gingerly prodding his head with his fingers.

"Let me see," Hamilton walked over and crouched over Jefferson, pushing his hair out of the way to get a better look.

Jefferson watched Hamilton intently as Hamilton studied his head. "How is it doc?"

"You'll live," Hamilton replied, opening his packing and pulling out some disinfectant, a needle, and string.

"This feels oddly familiar," Jefferson commented.

"Oh? You don't mean to tell me you've been shot at by a tank before?"

"No, it's just-" Jefferson gaze unfocused, trying to grasp a memory or the memory of a dream, "Didn't I stitch up your head one time?" Jefferson asked, unsure.

"No."

"I could've sworn-" Jefferson shook his head slightly, "Nevermind, it doesn't matter."

"Don't move, I might accidentally stab you," Hamilton reprimanded.

"Don't do that."

"Then don't move." Hamilton finished up and cut the extra string off. "There, all done, you can move again." Hamilton packed away his supplies and sat down next to Jefferson, resting his head against the wall, eyes closed.

Jefferson watched Hamilton, a small smile on his lips. Hamilton still had face paint and mud smeared through his hair and all over his face. Jefferson probably did too, but it was cute on Hamilton.

Jefferson could've sworn there was a time when he stitched up Hamilton's head. When was it? He ran through every day since they met, he wouldn't forget a day like that, would he? Jefferson met him for the first time when Hamilton was about to get eaten alive by a mob. Right after that, they got kidnapped and they had no medical supplies for stitching injuries in there, and after that...Hamilton was right, Jefferson never did do anything like that. Weird. Then why did he remember it? It was probably just a dream.

**\----**


	18. Stuck in Time

 

Jefferson had no idea Hamilton accidentally fell asleep on the wall beside him, so he was surprised when Hamilton's weight suddenly leaned against him as he slowly slid down the wall. Jefferson looked down at the small man that was resting against him, well that position didn't look very comfy at all, Hamilton would probably wake with a whole bunch of aches and pains if Jefferson let him sleep like that. So Jefferson gently moved Hamilton away from the wall a laid his head down in his lap.

Hamilton shifted in his sleep, getting more comfortable and throwing an arm over Jefferson's legs. Jefferson smiled to himself, Hamilton looked so relaxed and peaceful. He wished he could make Hamilton look like that all the time, but it was impossible, neither of them would ever be able to relax completely with a war going on.

Hamilton started twitching, the signs of a beginning nightmare. Jefferson murmured to him quietly and ran his hand gently through Hamilton's hair until he relaxed again. He continued running his hand through Hamilton's hair absent-mindedly until sleep overtook him as well.

When Jefferson woke, Hamilton was gone. He looked around and spotted him standing at the mouth of the cave, on hand against the wall, looking at the rain that was pouring down. Jefferson got up, walked over and stood behind him, slightly closer than he normally would.

"We can't go anywhere in this," Hamilton stated, sensing Jefferson's presence. "There's no lightning or wind, but the rain is just coming down too hard."

"I guess we're stuck in a cave for a while then. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?" Jefferson certainly had some ideas but he wasn't going to voice any of them.

"Got any food in your pack?" Hamilton asked.

"Do I go anywhere without food?" Jefferson replied rhetorically, finding his bag and digging out some small rectangular boxes, about a centimeter or two in height, nine inches long, and five inches wide. "Here you go." Jefferson tossed one at Hamilton.

"MRE's?" Hamilton asked.

"Meals Ready to Eat. Military food, sorry, I couldn't fit a gourmet kitchen in my bag."

"You should be ashamed of yourself. Such poor packing skills," Hamilton tutted.

"You're literally a walking armory because of those packing skills, don't get snarky with me," Jefferson pointed out. "They're okay cold, but we could probably make a fire and heat it up. The rain will keep the smoke from being noticed."

"Yeah, and send our radio signal to hell," Hamilton added.

"You tried contacting the others then?"

"Yeah, didn't work."

"I guess we really do have to wait out the storm," Jefferson said, pulling out some supplies to start a fire. Once it got going, thanks to the twigs and sticks that littered the cave floor, Jefferson threw on a brick that would burn for about five hours before placing the MRE's where they'd heat up. "Now we wait," Jefferson said, sitting back and admiring his handy work. Hamilton walked over and plopped down next to him. "You know what I got?" Jefferson said happily, suddenly reaching for his pack.

"What?"

"A kettle!" Jefferson grinned as he pulled up a miniature kettle.

"You wouldn't also happen to have some coffee in the magical bag of yours, now would you?" Hamilton asked as Jefferson placed the kettle outside to fill up with rain. He also set out their canteens while he was thinking about it.

"Actually, I do." Jefferson walked back over, thrust his arm into the depths of his bag and pulled out two one serving coffee packets. "I may spend too much time in sporting good stores. You won't believe how much stuff they have in little hiking sized portions." Jefferson fetched the now full container and plopped it onto the fire to boil.

After the coffee was done, Jefferson handed Hamilton his cup. "You are a miracle worker," Hamilton said, gladly accepting his cup.

"Finally, someone recognizes my natural abilities," Jefferson preened.

"If I didn't need this coffee so much, I would the scalding contents down your shirt just for that comment."

"Good thing you need it so much."

"Asshole."

"Bastard," Jefferson smirked.

"Why do I put up with you?" Hamilton asked.

"Darling, I've got two reasons," Jefferson said, wiggling two fingers in the air, "One, you love me and you know it."

"As if," Hamilton snorted.

"Two," Jefferson continued, "We are stuck in a cave with no other option for company."

"That sounds more accurate."

"And three," Jefferson said, adding another finger, "I saved your pansy ass."

"Excuse me? I believe I'm the one that saved your ass on that hill!" Hamilton protested.

"Only because I saved you from that mob and again at the rally and again at the tank and-" Jefferson was ticking off fingers.

"Alright, alright, alright!" Hamilton cut him off before he could get started on how many times he saved Hamilton last night with a well-placed shot. "You saved my ass! Just don't forget that I saved your ass too."

"Okay, consider our asses mutually saved."

"Oh my God, just shut the fuck up," Hamilton groaned.

Jefferson cackled, "Maybe you should throw a book at my face if you think I talk so much," Jefferson taunted.

Hamilton paused for a second, the dream of him doing just that flashing through his mind. "If I had one, I would. Maybe I'll just settle for throwing you in the fire."

"And ruin these amazing clothes? You wouldn't dare," Jefferson challenged, "Maybe if you stripped them off me, then you'd be willing to throw me in the fire."

Hamilton's face reddened. He prayed that Jefferson wouldn't notice or at least think it was from the heat of the fire. "At this point, I'm going to throw you into the rain and let you freeze to death."

"Actually, I could go for a shower," Jefferson said, draining his coffee and walking toward the entrance.

"What're you doing?" Hamilton asked rising to his feet.

"Washing all the mud off my face and out of my hair," Jefferson said, taking off his coat and throwing it in the corner.

"You're going to freeze to death."

"Isn't that what you're aiming for?" Jefferson asked, his shirt joining his coat. "You should too, you're covered in mud and blood."

Hamilton watched as Jefferson shirked off his pants, leaving him in only his boxers, and stepped out into the rain. "SHIT! That's cold!" He shook his head, flinging water off only to get even more drenched. "Come on in Hamilton! The water's fine!"

Hamilton was too busy enjoying the view. Jefferson rubbed at his face and scrubbed at his hair. A moment later, Hamilton decided that he really didn't like the feeling of blood and mud clinging to his skin any longer, so he did exactly as Jefferson did.

Jefferson had a handful of leaves and was scrubbing at his skin when Hamilton walked out, he paused and looked Hamilton up and down quickly before returning to scrubbing his own skin. Hamilton followed suit, he noticed Jefferson had already finished by the time Hamilton was gotten his face clean because he started so much earlier. He stalked back into the cave and stood by the fire to dry off. Hamilton followed him in soon after.

Jefferson scrubbed at his clothes a bit as he sat there drying, trying to get some of the red stains out. He was actually doing a pretty good job, he held them out to inspect them, slightly proud of his work. He snapped them, getting some extra dirt off before throwing them back in the corner until he was completely dry.

***

Several hours passed, the rain still drummed down unrelentingly, Hamilton had thrown another five-hour brick on the fire, and they were both completely clothed again. It felt nice to be mostly clean again. With nothing else to do, Jefferson subconsciously did what he always did when he was bored or focused on his work, he started humming. After a minute or so Hamilton's head snapped up and stared at Jefferson.

"What're you humming?" he asked a little more sharply than he intended.

"What?"

"You're humming, what's the song you're humming?" Hamilton asked. He recognized that song, he'd recognize it anywhere. He dreamed it all the time. He could play it on the cello. He could play that song before he even knew what a cello was. But he had no idea what it was.

"I don't know," Jefferson said, "I was just humming, hold on." He started humming again, this time paying attention to the tune. "Oh, I know that one by heart," he said easily, "it's  _The_ _Impossible_ _Duet_ byHandel-Halvorsen Passacaglia. Do you know it?"

"Yeah...I guess I do," Hamilton said quietly, receding into his memories.

***

The rain continued into the night, making Jefferson and Hamilton stay another night in the cave. They curled up on opposite sides of the fire and went to sleep. Both having the same dream, but from different perspectives of blurred mystery. Hamilton's face was out of reach for Jefferson and Jefferson's refused to make itself known to Hamilton. Just as they couldn't hear the names they muttered through the murkiness of the dream, they could only hear their own.

_"_ _Alexander_ _..." Jefferson_ _gr_ _oaned_ _,_ _collapsed_ _on_ _the_ _ground_ _. Jefferson couldn't hear the_ _name_ _he_ _uttered_ _._

_"_ _Thomas_ _," Hamilton_ _cried_ _, not_ _hearing_ _the_ _name_ _he_ _desperately_ _clung_ _to._ _He_ _fell_ _to the_ _ground_ _next to the_ _crumpled_ _Jefferson,_ _he_ _turned_ _him_ _over, looking for_ _where_ _the_ _bullet_ _tore_ _through_ _Jefferson's_ _body_ _. A_ _red_ _flower_ _blossomed_ _on_ _Jefferson's_ _chest_ _, right between the_ _ribs_ _. A_ _fatal_ _wound_ _. Hamilton_ _tore_ _off_ _his_ _coat_ _and_ _pressed_ _it to_ _Jefferson's_ _wound_ _. "It's not that_ _bad_ _," Hamilton_ _cried_ _, "_ _You'll_ _be fine."_

_"_ _Alexander_ _," Jefferson_ _smiled_ _weakly_ _, "I_ _always_ _know when you're_ _lying_ _."_

_Hamilton_ _sobbed_ _, "_ _No_ _! I'm not_ _lying_ _! You're going to be fine because you're going to_ _pull_ _through_ _this and_ _live_ _a_ _long_ _and happy life with me!"_

_"_ _With_ _you?" Jefferson_ _chuckled_ _, "_ _Sounds_ _wonderful_ _. Are you going to_ _cook_ _, or_ _am_ _I?"_

_"I'll_ _cook_ _,_ _Thomas_ _. I'll_ _cook_ _for you."_

_"_ _Perfect_ _. You_ _burning_ _the_ _house_ _down will_ _give_ _me a_ _chance_ _to_ _redesign_ _it. I'm thinking more_ _windows_ _. What do you think?" Jefferson asked,_ _his_ _eyes_ _dropping_ _._

_"_ _Stay_ _awake,_ _Thomas_ _,_ _yes_ _that_ _sounds_ _great_ _, but you have to_ _stay_ _awake." Hamilton_ _pressed_ _the_ _wound_ _harder_ _,_ _willing_ _the_ _bleeding_ _to stop, but the_ _red_ _just_ _continued_ _to_ _soak_ _through_ _the_ _coat_ _._

_"You know-" Jefferson_ _coughed_ _, "-you never_ _read_ _that_ _book_ _."_

_"I'll tell you what, you come_ _home_ _with me and_ _it'll_ _be the first_ _thing_ _I do," Hamilton_ _promised_ _._

_"_ _Read_ _that_ _book_ _."_

_"Only if you come back with me," Hamilton_ _insisted_ _._

_Jefferson_ _struggled_ _to_ _breathe_ _,_ _blood_ _dribbling_ _from_ _his_ _mouth_ _. "_ _Alexander_ _, don't_ _cry_ _,"_ _he_ _pleaded_ _,_ _reaching_ _up and_ _brushing_ _away_ _Hamilton's_ _tears_ _. Hamilton_ _clutched_ _Jefferson's_ _hand_ _, the_ _other_ _still_ _tightly_ _pressed_ _against_ _Jefferson's_ _wound_ _. "You have to_ _keep_ _going,_ _Alexander_ _, this_ _nation_ _needs_ _you."_

_"This_ _nation_ _needs_ _you, not me, you're the_ president."

_Jefferson_ _laughed_ _,_ _and his next words were lost in the blurriness of the dream._ _He_ _coughed_ _harshly_ _._

_"_ _No_ _! You_ _promised_ _that you wouldn't_ _die_ _without me! You_ _promised_ _! You have to_ _keep_ _your_ _promise_ _. You_ _can't_ _die_ _before me!_ _Not_ _before you listen to what I_ _learned_ _to_ _play_ _for you!" Hamilton_ _cried_ _._

_Jefferson_ _wiped_ _away_ _more of_ _Hamilton's_ _tears_ _and_ _pushed_ _the_ _silky_ _hair_ _from_ _his_ _eyes_ _,_ _wanting_ _to see_ _those_ _beautiful_ _eyes_ _while_ _he_ _still_ _could."What did you_ _learn_ _to_ _play_ _for me?"_

_"I-it's a_ _surprise_ _," Hamilton_ _hiccuped_ _._

_"Tell me," Jefferson_ _insisted_ _weakly_ _, "I_ _want_ _to know."_

_"I_ _learned_ _to_ _play_ _the_ _cello_ _, I can_ _play_ _that_ _song_ _you_ _played_ _that night in the_ _library_ _._ _We_ _can_ _play_ _it_ _together_ _."_

_"The_ _Impossible_ _Duet_ _._ _Our_ _life_ _story_ _it_ _seems_ _," Jefferson_ _laughed_ _but it_ _faded_ _away_ _._

_"Jefferson!"_

_"I_ _wished_ _Burr_ _had_ _shot_ _me in the_ _heart_ _so I could_ _die_ _faster_ _and not feel every_ _second_ _of it," Jefferson_ _grumbled_ _._

_"_ _How_ _about you don't_ _die_ _and tell_ _him_ _to_ _aim_ _better yourself." Jefferson_ _closed_ _his_ _eyes_ _wearily_ _. "_ _Eyes_ _open_ _,_ _Thomas_ _!"_

_"I'm_ _sorry_ _,_ _Alexander_ _," Jefferson_ _whispered_ _, "that I couldn't_ _keep_ _my_ _promise_ _. You know, you were my_ _new_ _melody_ _."_

_"We're a duet," Hamilton insisted, "We can't play without the other."_

_Jefferson smiled up at Hamilton, "Play for me."_

_"_ _Stay_ _alive_ _," Hamilton_ _sobbed_ _._

Hamilton and Jefferson both snapped awake and pulled their knees to their chests, trying to calm their breathing. Hamilton could feel the tears still in his eyes and his throat raw from emotion. Jefferson could still feel the pain from the bullet that had torn into his chest. After a moment, Jefferson walked over to Hamilton and pulled him close, wanting to be close to him and comfort him. Hamilton gladly accepted without a word and they both sat there for the rest of the night, staring at the flames of the fire.

**\----**


	19. Home Calls the Heart

 

The rain had finally let up in the middle of the night, and seeing as Jefferson and Hamilton were both already awake from their dreams, they packed and set out immediately. They had lost enough time as it was, they couldn't afford to lose anymore. They doubled back to the command post they had blown up a couple nights before. There was lots of activity. The remains of the Governmentals were burying the dead and ransacking the rebel headquarters for any information. They wouldn't find any, the rebels were absurdly good at taking any and all valuable information with them or destroying it.

It looked like the force was mostly just recovering from the extreme amount of losses with hardly any payoff, they could thank Hamilton and the squad for that. So Hamilton and Jefferson left and followed the trail of the rebel army. Easy to track. That was a problem. It wouldn't be long before the governmental army was on the move again and tracking the rebel position. As soon as they caught up to the main column, Hamilton would be sure to tell Washington to split of the troop into the state regiments and then into counties and march separately to wherever they were going so they would be harder to track. Hamilton glanced down at the tank tracks, maybe there was no point. They would just have to build an unbreakable defense or at least a good enough one that the government wouldn't risk the casualties.

Now that he was thinking about it, why didn't they just bomb them? Wipe them all out in one go? How would they defend against that? They didn't have any AA guns to defend against aircraft.

"Hey Jefferson," Hamilton said suddenly, "I think I have something else in mind for our next target."

"Oh? And what is it you want us to steal next then?"

"You know those experimental labs the government has set up down in Georgia?"

"Yeah."

"I wanna steal a force field."

"You've got yourself a partner, darlin'. No way am I leaving that place without a couple of extra toys myself."

"Sounds good then?"

"I've always wanted to go there. Can we just steal everything in there and run for it?"

"Want to make it our new headquarters?"

Jefferson thought for a moment, "Top notch security, countless destructive weapons, stealing a governmental facility to make our new base? Sounds like a grand plan. One problem though, how we even to get inside?"

"Some insane plan that will never work, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm all for it."

***

When Jefferson and Hamilton walked into camp, several things happened all at once. First was shouting, the next they were in the middle of all their friends as they were being hugged to death because apparently everyone was starting to think something terrible happened to them. And then to their astonishment, the entire rebel army was there, lifting them into the air and cheering about how they saved the revolution in one night.

When Jefferson's and Hamilton's feet finally touched the ground again, they finally resumed their business. Hamilton headed straight for General's Washington's tent and Jefferson went to find some real food for them both since Hamilton always forgot to eat. By the time Jefferson made it to Washington's tent, Hamilton burst out the door in a rage, almost knocking the two bowls from Jefferson's hands, he brushed by him and kept walking, going back to his own tent. Jefferson stared after him, then at Washington's tent, then at the bowls in his hands.

He went after Hamilton, finding him throwing things in a pile on the raised cot that was his bed. "Someone's not happy," Jefferson remarked, standing in the doorway.

"He sent me home!" Hamilton practically yelled, "Home! I don't have a home! This is my home!" Hamilton scooped up all his pens and shoved them in a bag. "And even if I did have another home, what would I do? Pace back and forth every day? Watching the news? Waiting for the Goveys to find me?"

Jefferson walked over, took whatever item was in Hamilton's hands and thrust the bowl of hot oatmeal into his grasp. "Eat," Jefferson commanded. Hamilton shot him a glare, grabbing the spoon and stabbing it into the food like he was trying to murder it, scooped up its contents and jammed it in his mouth.

"Happy?" he asked.

"Not until you've finished it all." Hamilton rolled his eyes and scarfed down the rest. "Fantastic," Jefferson said, plopping himself down on Hamilton's bed amidst all his stuff. "Now tell me what happened."

"What are you? My therapist?"

"As of late? Yeah. Who else would make you tea in the middle of the night?"

Hamilton threw a wadded ball of clothing half-heartedly at Jefferson, who caught it out of the air and placed it with the rest of Hamilton's stuff. "I went in to give him my report of events and find out details of the retreat. Then, of course, I started discussing with him the plan you and I were talking about."

"With all the cool techy stuff?"

"Yeah, basically he said we had to stop taking off on suicide missions every other second just because we don't care about our lives ever since we got kidnapped. I protested that wasn't the case. Got into an argument-"

"-Naturally."

"-and several words later, I'm stalking out of his tent on temporary leave."

"I told you that mouth of your was going to get you into trouble one day, but did you listen? Nooo," Jefferson said, scooping up Hamilton's and his empty bowls and leaving the tent before Hamilton could throw something else at him. He deposited the bowls where they belonged and headed for Washington's tent.

"Sir," he said upon entry.

"General Jefferson," Washington greeted, setting down a pen, "What can I do for you?"

"Dormammu, I've come to bargain," Jefferson joked, a grin spreading across his face. Washington just stared at him blankly. "Okay, not a fan of Doctor Strange then, that's fine," he mumbled to himself. "Sir, it's come to my attention that you denied a certain plan concerning Hamilton and myself."

"Ah yes," Washington said, "What about it?"

"I think you should let us go through with it."

"I'll tell you exactly what I told General Hamilton," Washington said, "I can't afford to risk losing two of my best Generals on suicide missions just because you seem to not have a care in the world for your own life."

"Sir, I think the lives of the entire army outweigh the two of us."

"The army will be fine without you and Hamilton running off and trying to fight the entire war by yourselves."

"Fine. But it doesn't make sense to say you need Hamilton and then send him away."

"If I let him go on that mission, he won't come back. If I send him away on temporary leave, he'll still be there when I need him."

"Sir-"

"That's enough, Jefferson. There will be no mission. That's final."

"Yes, Sir." Jefferson turned and made his way out the tent. The sky had darkened considerably and suddenly Jefferson was exhausted. So he did what anyone would do, he went to bed.

_"So what are you going to do in your meantime?"  the person asked Jefferson._

_"Follow up on my offer," Jefferson stated plainly._

_"What offer?"_

_"Would you like to see Monticello?"_

_The person smiled, "Do I have a choice?"_

_"Not really," Jefferson smirked. "You're freeloading as it is, so when I leave, you'll have to find another place to stay."_

_"Shit. I need to get a new place."_

_A mansion flashed across Jefferson's vision, Monticello, his mind whispered to him, Monticello. Home. Monticello. You want to go home._

_Where was home?_

_Monticello._

_Memories or dreams flashed before him in pieces. Fireplaces, morning rides. Endless farmlands. A beautiful view of the valley. A library. Candles._

_Monticello._

***

The next morning, Jefferson strode into Washington's tent and announced, "Sir, I'm taking a temporary leave of absence."

"What-"

"And if you don't see fit to grant it to me, then I'll be resigning my post. Have a good day, Sir." Without waiting for a response, Jefferson walked out the door. Washington would send a response to Jefferson by leaving a letter in his tent when he came to a decision. Jefferson went to his own tent a started packing. A little while later, a courier came in and delivered a  note telling Jefferson's leave of absence was granted. Jefferson grabbed his case, now filled with his stuff and made for Hamilton's tent.

It was empty. Well not entirely. There was a case by the door, Hamilton's bare desk in the corner, and his cot in the other corner, then there was Hamilton himself sitting on the cot, staring blankly at his hands. Jefferson tossed his case next to Hamilton's and plopped himself down on the cot and leaned back on his hands.

"I talked to Washington," Jefferson said.

"Oh?" Hamilton asked, not moving.

"Yeah, let's just say that I'm going to be tagging along with you for a while. I resigned this morning."

Hamilton looked at Jefferson, "You're kidding." Jefferson shook his head, telling Hamilton he wasn't. "That was a stupid thing to do."

"Okay, I threatened to resign and took a leave of absence."

"Okay, that's not as stupid but still pretty idiotic. What was that supposed to accomplish? Now neither of us will be here to keep the army together!"

"Relax, I left Madison in command with instructions. He'll be fine. You should do the same with Burr."

"Burr has a command in his own state, New Jersey."

"Then Mulligan, he's actually from New York, or better yet, put Lafayette in charge. He has killer instincts when it comes to leading men," Jefferson suggested.

"I suppose I could do that," Hamilton walked over to his desk and scribbled out a note and sent it off. "But where am I going to go? What am I going to do?"

Jefferson picked at his nails, "Come with me."

"With you?" Hamilton scoffed, "And if I did that, where would we be going?"

"Monticello," Jefferson inspected his nails a little more closely, not looking at Hamilton.

The name of the place hit Hamilton's chest like a gong and rang through his head like a bell. Hamilton knew that place, it's been in so many of his dreams, why he has never gone there before, he didn't know. Every time he thought about it, he'd get unexplainably depressed. But for some reason, he didn't feel that way now. "Monticello?" he asked uncertainly, "Isn't that a museum?" 

"It was, until the government started using it as an outpost, probably as a way to slander my name even though I never owned the place. It's not like I'm the real founding father  _Thomas Jefferson_. He died, what, around two hundred and thirty years ago?" Jefferson finally met Hamilton's eyes. "What do ya say?"

"I've nowhere else to go, might as well," Hamilton shrugged.

Jefferson grinned, "Ready to take back a historical landmark from the Goveys and claim it as our own?"

"Hell yeah."

**\----**


	20. Ghosts of the Past

 

"I don't understand why you bring that god-awful cane wherever you go," Hamilton remarked. Jefferson and Hamilton lie concealed in the foliage of the tree line surrounding Monticello.

"It's a lot different than I remember," Jefferson remarked.

"Yeah, it is," Hamilton agreed.

They both glanced at each other and said at the same time, "Wait, I thought you said you've never been here before?"

"I haven't," they both replied. They looked at each other for a moment longer before turning their attention back to the patrols. Surprisingly, there weren't that many people guarding. They guessed Monticello wasn't a place they expected to be attacked by rebels. It was their own fault for turning such a historical building into a base for war. What was with that?

"What's the plan?" Jefferson asked.

"Sneak in, take everyone out, don't get blood on the curtains."

"I love it," Jefferson said, "I'd like to make one modification to that plan." Jefferson leaned over and whispered the plan in his ear.

Hamilton burst into quiet laughter. " _That's_ what you want to do?"

Jefferson grinned, "It'll be fun."

Hamilton stared at the front door of the grand building for a moment in thought. "Yeah, okay, let's do it."

"Blades only then," Jefferson instructed as they split up, taking off in two opposite directions, circling the perimeter. Jefferson crouched down into the bushes, two throwing knives in his hands. Wait for the first patrolman to pass, go for the second. Wait for it. Now! Jefferson knife spiraled through the air and embedded itself exactly where Jefferson aimed. The man sank to the ground. He sprinted across the grass, scooped up the body and returned to his position. He yanked out the knife, cleaned off the blood and concealed the body. Now he just had to wait for the first guard to lap back around.

Two minutes went by when the guard finally reappeared. Jefferson's knife was flying the next instant and another guard was crossed off. Jefferson retrieved the knife and hid that body too before moving to the next position.

This went on for a long time until Jefferson couldn't find any more guards to make friends with. When that finally happened, Jefferson imitated an owl perfectly. Ten seconds later he heard the response. Phase two. This was Jefferson's favorite phase.

He met up with Hamilton on the edge of the tree line closest to the front door. "I can't believe you want to do this," Hamilton said, shaking his head and calibrating the mechanism on his wrist. "Where did you get the idea for this anyway?" he asked, referring to the mechanism.

"Assassin's Creed," Jefferson replied, flicking his own blade out before it disappeared back up his sleeve. Hamilton rose an eyebrow at him, "Hey, your video game was Grand Theft Auto, mine was Assassin's Creed, leave it be."

"Let's go," Hamilton said, standing and walking brazenly onto the open grass, Jefferson right beside him. They slipped between the massive pillars and up to the front door. "This was your idea, you get the honors," Hamilton said, pointing to the door.

Jefferson stepped forward and loudly knocked on the door. They waited there patiently for a response. None came. "Try again," Hamilton said. Jefferson knocked again. A moment later, the door swung open.

"I swear Carl if you ding dong ditch the base one more- Oh, you're not Carl," the guard said.

"No, but he sounds like a great guy," Jefferson replied.

"Who are you? What do you want? This is a private base."

"Base?" Jefferson asked, "I didn't know this was a base, did you know it was a base, Hamilton?"

"No, I thought it was a museum," Hamilton said, looking just as confused.

"There must be a misunderstanding," Jefferson said, "We came for a tour, would you be willing to give one?" he asked the guard.

"No. Get lost."

"We just want a tour of some fascinating history," Jefferson innocently.

"Wait a minute, I know you two, you're Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton," the guard realized, reaching for his weapon.

"You know what, I think we'll do the self-tour, thanks," Jefferson said, flicking his wrists. The guard dropped to the ground and they took the extra minute to hide him as well.

"Told you we'd be recognized," Hamilton said as they made their way back to the door.

"That was the point, darling." They stopped in front of the door, looking inside at the sparse decor and beautiful hardwood floors. Jefferson looked at Hamilton, "Stain my wood floors and I'll kill you."

"If I find so much as a speck of blood on those curtains, I'll make every second of your life a living hell," Hamilton shot back.

"Shall we?" Jefferson grinned, nodding inside.

They stepped inside and looked around. Jefferson held out a hand to stop Hamilton and smiled mischievously. "No, don't you dare," Hamilton warned, "Don't even think about-"

"Get out of my house you filthy Goveys!" Jefferson bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Thomas Jefferson's ghost has come to reclaim what belongs to him!"

"You motherfucker," Hamilton swore in the moment of silence before footsteps pounded down the hallways.

"I'll take the ones on the left and you take the ones on the right?" Jefferson asked.

"I hate you so fucking much."

Hamilton and Jefferson took advantage of the precious seconds they had before the soldiers descended upon their location and hid seamlessly in the shadows of the old house, ducking into large adjourning rooms. The soldiers pounded into the room they had just vacated and looked around. Jefferson and Hamilton were already racing up the now empty stairs to the balcony above the soldiers.

"Only ten. We can take that," Hamilton calculated.

"No one ever looks up," Jefferson whispered to Hamilton, expertly perched on the balcony railing, with a salute to Hamilton, he fell over the edge.

"Shit," Hamilton swore, looking over the railing. Jefferson soared down like he was a hawk diving for its prey. Two knives gleamed in one of his hands, the cane in the other. He landed on one soldier, assassinating him with a skillful blow and used his momentum to roll into the middle of the group, throwing two knives into nearby guards. "Show off!" Hamilton called from the upstairs balcony, making several soldiers look toward him as he followed Jefferson over the balcony.

Seven left. Hamilton threw his own blade as he sailed through the air. Six. He landed right next to Jefferson with a heavy thud, not bothering to be stealthful since he was already seen. They stood back to back, soldiers were all around them, reaching for their guns. Hamilton kicked out the legs of one, the gun skidding from his hand and slashed at another with his knife. Jefferson already had two down with a couple masterful knife throws and the third was about to be introduced to the hidden blade up Jefferson's sleeve. Hamilton brought his own into his third before finishing off the one he had kicked to the floor.

Panting, Jefferson and Hamilton looked around. "Let's get these bodies out of-" More soldiers flooded into the room. 

"Fuck," Hamilton swore, both of them palming more blades and throwing them as fast as they could. "Shit, I'm out," Hamilton called after a minute, searching around for one he could pick up.

"Me too," Jefferson responded, from the other side of the room. It took Hamilton all of one nanosecond to read the field of battle. He was standing at the edge of the room, no enemy soldiers nearby, he could make a dash for it. Jefferson was on the opposite side of the room, five soldiers closing in on him. Five soldiers between them and victory. Five soldiers between them and death. Hamilton could see how it was going to play out and they didn't come out of it.

Jefferson stood tall and proud, chin held high, a haughty smirk on his lips, that knowing look in his eyes that always made Hamilton want to punch him, soldiers all around him. Then a flash of silver and another soldier dropped to the floor. Jefferson moved again, each step like a dance as he slashed his sword. He radiated elegance and grace, every step faster and surer than before. In a blink of an eye, it was over. Jefferson stood triumphantly and Hamilton watched in shock as Jefferson strode toward him, sliding his sword back into his cane.

"That was a few more soldiers than I was expecting for such an inactive base," Jefferson remarked.

"You have a sword cane," Hamilton pointed out.

"Yes," Jefferson said, smiling slightly.

"All this time, there's been a sword in your  _cane_ ,"

"I told you, don't dis the cane," Jefferson smirked.

"It all makes so much sense now! The entire collection of canes, they're all swords, aren't they?"

"Don't be ridiculous. They're not  _all_ swords," Jefferson scoffed, "Some of them are guns."

"What?!"

"Don't dis the canes."

***

After Jefferson and Hamilton buried the bodies, they stood in front of the front doors again. Neither of them explained why this was so important to them. When they went inside the first time, it was as soldiers on a mission, this time, they were themselves, thrown violently back into the memories of their dreams. Their hearts ached at the view and they had no idea why. They felt giddy and depressed all at the same time.

They finally stepped through the door. For Jefferson, voices echoed around him, whispering old dreams that he couldn't remember.

_You're an asshole_

_You're going to need to come up with more names to call me_

_~~_

_Music is the passion of my soul_

_I never learned, I always had my nose in a book_

_Allow me to show you_

_~~_

_What can you not do?_

_Resist you_

_~~_

_It's almost Christmas!_

_Which is a big deal because?_

_...we used to decorate everything..._

_Okay, we'll do Christmas. We'll decorate_ everything

_~~_

_We need to return to New York._

_We've got work to do._

_~~_

_We'll come back some day_

_~~_

_This is your place now, Sir. He left it for you._

_It's not the same without him._

_Give it time, your heart will heal._

_My heart will never heal because I don't have one anymore. It died with him that day._

_~~_

Hamilton was hearing something completely different. That song played louder than ever, he could hear the notes floating down the hall. There was only one thing he could do, follow it. Jefferson snapped out of his trance when Hamilton moved and followed him down the hall. They stepped into a massive library. There were books still scattered around. There was a pile in the corner like someone had made a nest out of them and curled up there. Spider webs clung in the corners and some books seemed little more than dust.

Jefferson looked around, his eyes settling on a massive fireplace where could've sworn he saw himself playing the violin for a moment, but the vision faded before he could be sure. "Did you see that?" Jefferson asked when he noticed Hamilton was staring in the same direction as him.

"Don't tell me you believe in ghosts," Hamilton attempted to taunt, but his heart just wasn't in it. He did see something, but he didn't know what. Whatever it was, he thought it was Jefferson at first.

"Of course not," Jefferson defended, not entirely sure if he was lying or not, "I just feel like I've been here before." He ran his hand over a shelf.

Hamilton walked over to the nest of books. "Me too," he said distractedly looking over the titles 

"Honestly, I feel like my entire life has been one huge puzzle, except the pieces are scattered everywhere and I'm trying to hunt them all down. This-"

"-And this place feels like where it's all supposed to come together," Hamilton finished.

"Yeah...How'd you know?"

"Just a guess," Hamilton replied, his attention catching on a familiar looking book. He plucked it from the pile, wiping dust from the cover.

_What's this?_

_A book I think you'll enjoy. You're always reading, so I figured you should read something of worth._

_I doubt anything owned by a useless man like you could be worth anything_

_I don't know, you need me to reach all the high shelves_

_You_ _motherfu_ _-_

_Watch your language, bastard._

_I'm done with your shit._

_a book dropped to the ground._

_~~_

_So, what was that book you were trying to lend me the other day?_

_Interested now, are we? There's a copy in the library if you want it_

_Library? You have a library?_

_Of course, I have a library, what do you think I spend all my time doing?_

_Making horrible macaroni_

_That was low. Come on, I'll show you. It's not as nice as the one in Monticello but I couldn't travel all the way to Virginia when I wanted to kick back with a book. I take it you like books?_

_As a child, I had to fight for every page I could find. How in the world did you get so many?_

_Years of compiling. I've never seen you so happy, you're adorable._

_Excuse you, I'm disastrously sexy._

_Ah, well, here's the book._

_Thanks_

_Don't worry about returning it, I've got another copy._

_~~_

_Have you read that book yet?_

_What book-oh. Right. No, not yet. I will though. There's just been so much going on._

_~~_

_You know, you never read that book_

_I tell you what, you come home with me and it'll be the first thing I do._

_Read that book_

_Only if you come back with me_

_~~_

"I never read that book..." Hamilton murmured.

"What did you say?" Jefferson asked, walking over to see what Hamilton was doing.

"I never read that book," Hamilton repeated, his voice stronger.

Jefferson looked at the book Hamilton was holding, "Hey, I know that book," he said, snatching it out of Hamilton's hands.

"Hey, you prick!" Hamilton protested, feeling like the final piece of his puzzle had been snatched from him. "Give that back! You can look through it when I'm done."

"It's okay, you can have it," Jefferson said, handing it back to Hamilton, "I have another copy," he said, walking over plucking an identical book off the shelf, knowing exactly where it would be. He thumbed through it real quick and replaced it before moving on.

The book in Hamilton's hand was much different. Maybe the covers and the typed story were the same, but the tidy scrawl that inked the pages was definitely not originally there. It was faded with age, but if Hamilton got his reading glasses, he could probably make it out.

Hamilton jumped when he heard a loud pop. He spun on his heel only to find Jefferson kneeling over a growing fire. "I thought it was a little cold in here and there was firewood all ready to go, so I decided to build a fire," he explained, warming his hands.

He was right, it was a little chilly, old buildings like this didn't have much in the way of heaters. Hamilton plopped down on a couch close to the fire, careful not to disturb the books that were piled around it. No doubt it was the favorite spot of an avid reader from long ago. He flipped through the pages of the book he found, wishing he had his glasses on him. He was startled out of his thoughts again when Jefferson started plucking at some strings.

"What're you doing?" Hamilton asked, looking up.

"Testing the sound of this violin," Jefferson replied, twisting the pegs.

"Where did you even find that? That's probably the founding father's old violin. Do you know how much that's worth? You should put it back," Hamilton said, flipping through the pages.

"Why? Instruments were made to be used, not sit in a display case."

"Do you even know how to play?" Hamilton rolled his eyes.

Jefferson grinned broadly. Challenge accepted. He faced the fire, not wanting Hamilton to see his expression. Ooh, Hamilton was going to eat those words. He snatched up the bow he had rosined up a moment ago and immediately laid into the violin, playing the first song that came to his fingertips. Jefferson heard the book Hamilton was holding thump to the ground in shock. That's right, Hamilton, eat those words. He played with more enthusiasm, pouring every ounce of his skill into the song.

Hamilton stared open-mouthed at the scene before him, the scene he'd memorized as it replayed in his dreams night after night. Jefferson standing in front of the fire, playing his heart into the violin. And not playing just any song, he was playing the song Hamilton knew better than anyone.

_The Impossible Duet._

**\----**


	21. Puzzle Pieces

****The book fell from Hamilton's hands and thudded to the floor as he gazed at the ethereal image before him. It couldn't be. But it was. Was he dreaming? Was this all a dream? Would that person go to turn around and vanish like they always did?

Except it wasn't a blurred figure this time, Hamilton knew exactly who he was. He rose slowly to his feet, approaching from behind as if Jefferson would disappear if he made the slightest sound. Hamilton reached out and laid his hand hesitantly on Jefferson's shoulder. The music stopped, Jefferson lowered the violin to his side as he turned to face Hamilton a large grin plastered on his face, but it faltered when he saw Hamilton's expression.

"It's real," Hamilton whispered, not tearing his gaze from Jefferson's.

"What?" Jefferson asked, concern growing. "Hamilton, are you okay?"

Hamilton moved his hand from Jefferson's shoulder to his cheek, holding his face like precious china. Jefferson gazed at him questioningly. "You're real," Hamilton whispered to himself.

"Of course I'm real," Jefferson said, confused, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Look at me, Thomas," Hamilton said, "Do you know me?"

"Of course I know you, we've been fighting together for years now," Jefferson said, unsure of what was happening.

"Decades, centuries. Thomas, we've been together for centuries."

"What're you on about? You're not making any sense," Jefferson said, not sure whether or not he should pull away. Hamilton's touch felt so good and he'd been aching for it ever since he met the guy, but right now he seemed a little out of it. Jefferson was concerned, Hamilton seemed to have finally broken.

"Don't you get it? The dreams! The song! This place! We've done it all before!"

"Hamilton, calm down. What are you trying to say?"

Hamilton stepped away, "You don't have them?" he asked, his heart shrinking in his chest.

"Have what?"

"The dreams."

"Of course I have them, we both have them. We've talked about them before."

"No, not the nightmares. The others ones." Jefferson stopped. The other ones. The ones he shared with no one. The ones where he had someone so important, so special, that waking up without them in his arms killed him every day. "Think about it, Thomas," Hamilton practically begged him to remember. Jefferson was thinking about it. He was always thinking about it. He didn't think there was ever a time he wasn't thinking about it.

"How do you know about those dreams?" Jefferson asked quietly.

Hamilton had just about given up when Jefferson uttered those words. Instead of explaining, Hamilton did the only thing he could think of, he quoted a dream. "I learned to play the cello, I can play that song you played that night in the library. We can play it together."

"The Impossible Duet. Our life story it seems," Jefferson replied, everything clicking into place. Jefferson stepped forward, reaching for Hamilton who practically threw himself into Jefferson's arms, clinging to his chest. Jefferson wrapped his arms tightly around Hamilton, tears streaming down his face, "Alexander..." 

"Thomas, I can't believe after all this time-" Hamilton said, choking back sobs.

"Oh, Alexander, I could never forget you. Not even after two hundred years," Jefferson said, still holding Hamilton to him like he might disappear at any second.

Hamilton pulled suddenly away from his arms and slapped him. "Shit! Alexander!" Jefferson swore, holding his face. "What was that for?"

"Don't you ever die on me like that again!" Hamilton shouted, "Don't you ever go stepping front of bullets for me again!"

Jefferson chuckled slightly, dropping his hand from his face. "Don't go and get yourself into situations where I have to save your ass."

"I'm serious, Thomas. Promise me."

"I can't do that, Alexander," Jefferson said, stepping toward him and brushing Hamilton's hair out of his face. "My life is meaningless if it means saving yours."

"Have you thought about how it felt for me? How it felt to live without you? To walk through these halls thinking you could be around any corner but knowing that you weren't and never would be? To see your violin gathering dust and never being touched by your hands again?"

"At least my cello didn't go unused," Jefferson joked. He didn't want to talk about his death. He didn't want Hamilton to have to feel that pain anymore. He was there now. He could hold him again, kiss him again, be there for him. That's all that mattered.

"Do you really think I ever touched that thing again?" Hamilton asked.

"Yes, yes I do."

"Fuck you," Hamilton growled.

"If you must," Jefferson shrugged, grinning. Hamilton scooped up and book, "Oh shit-" Jefferson's grin disappeared as he dove for cover right as the book went sailing through the air, right where he'd been standing.

Jefferson stood back up laughing, Hamilton standing in front of the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest, Jefferson went over and embraced him again, burrowing his head into Hamilton's neck. Hamilton finally relented, arms circling around Jefferson as they stood there and just held each other.

"How are we even here, Thomas?" Hamilton asked.

"Does it matter?" Jefferson asked looking into Hamilton's eyes, those eyes that he thought he would never see again centuries ago. Hamilton saw Jefferson's eyes darken lustfully, his own gaze flicking to Jefferson's lips as Jefferson said, "We're here now." Jefferson's lips hovered just over Hamilton's, Hamilton could feel his breath on his skin, why was he hesitating? 

Hamilton entwined his hands in Jefferson's hair and pulled him down, crashing their lips together, Hamilton moaned blissfully, feeling as if for the first time in this life, he was complete. It had been so long, so long since he felt Jefferson against him, his hands, his lips, his hair, his skin. Hamilton wanted it all. There were too many layers between them, Kevlar, bullet-proof vests, weapons, cloth. Before Hamilton could set to work on removing any of it, Jefferson hefted Hamilton up, guiding his legs around his body so that he was straddling him while Jefferson carried him from the room. Hamilton was suddenly much taller than Thomas, he grinned at his new advantage. 

He circled his arms around Jefferson's neck and dipped down, kissing Jefferson passionately, prodding his lips open with his tongue. Gently nipping Jefferson's lip. Jefferson groaned, "Shit, Alexander, you're going to make me trip," he said, mounting the stairs. Hamilton knew that wasn't true, they'd done this countless times when they were at Monticello together. Jefferson knew this place by the back of his hand. Jefferson seemed to know what Hamilton was thinking, "That was over two hundred years ago," he said between kisses, "There's bound to be some lapse in my memory."

Hamilton didn't care. He didn't care about anything except the clothes that were separating the two. He kissed Jefferson harder, pressing his advantage while he could, making the kiss more desperate, tugging on Jefferson's hair.

Fuck, Hamilton knew what that did to Jefferson's self-control, Jefferson moaned and opened his mouth up wholly to Hamilton's. His tongue slipped in and entangled with his. Shit. "Alexander," Jefferson pushed a door open and toppled onto his old bed. Luckily for them, since it was a museum, it was well kept and still made. The soldiers seemed to have had the decency to stay in Monticello's guest rooms and not disturb a founding father's resting place.

Jefferson grinned down at Hamilton, who was now pinned beneath him. "No more of that for you, you wicked thing," Jefferson purred. Oh, when Hamilton got a couple inches on Jefferson, he liked to extort everything he could out of it. "Now it's my turn,"

Hamilton smirked slyly up at him like he knew something Jefferson didn't. Before Jefferson could figure out what, Hamilton pulled him down, distracting him with his lips and tongue. A moment later, he felt his heavy coat slide off, thudding to the floor as the weapons struck the wood. So that's what he'd been up to. Jefferson's own hands went to work, undoing the buttons of Hamilton's like he'd done it a million times before.

Because he had.

Hamilton's coat disappeared, sailing across the room, Jefferson immediately went to work on Hamilton's vest. "Shit," Hamilton swore, he had forgotten how fast Jefferson was at that, he was only halfway down Jefferson's vest. He was going to have to pick up his game. He prayed that Jefferson's hand would work quicker, his pants were getting extremely uncomfortable and tight. Both their vests were gone, leaving them in the loose, billowy shirts that were underneath. Hamilton was already sliding Jefferson's off, but Jefferson's hands slowed down, Hamilton protested but stopped when Jefferson bit his lip and trailed kisses down his jaw, Jefferson's hand slipping underneath his shirt and tracing circles up Hamilton's abdomen. Electricity seemed to shoot from his fingertips as they grazed over his skin, reaching to every part of his body. Hamilton moaned, fisting a hand in Jefferson's hair and trailing the other along his spine. Jefferson nipped his ear and slid the shirt from Hamilton's body, trailing kisses down his neck and along his collarbone before returning to Hamilton's lips. In all their time together, this was as far as they'd ever gotten, mostly because not long after they had finally gotten together, Jefferson was pulled away by his work, leaving for the presidential manor and soon after, from Hamilton's life altogether.

Jefferson's hand trailed down Hamilton's stomach as he kissed Hamilton deeply, trying to distract Hamilton from his wandering hand and failing. All of Hamilton's attention was focused on that hand as it slipped beneath the hem of his pants, stopping just short of where Hamilton yearned for him to go. He stroked Hamilton's skin but not going any further.

Hamilton groaned, shifting, trying to get Jefferson to travel that last inch, but to no avail. Jefferson's other arm wrapped underneath Hamilton's waist, rolling them over onto their sides, kissing him for a moment longer before breaking apart. Jefferson smiled, his gaze never leaving Hamilton's as he pushed the hair out of Hamilton's face, "I've missed you so much, Alexander," he said softly, "I'll never leave you again."

"And if you do, I swear to God, I will beat your ass and shove you in an oven."

"You're a very violent person."

"You love me."

"Yes, I do," Thomas hummed. Jefferson's hand slipped around Hamilton's waist, and pulled them tightly together, fits their bodies together like puzzle pieces. Hamilton could feel Jefferson through his pants, seemingly just as eager as Hamilton him. Alexander moved his hips against Jefferson's starting to grind into him, finding his lips with his own. Jefferson's arm tightened around him, forcing his hips to still.

"Not yet, love," Jefferson said softly.

"Why not? You seem more than ready."

Jefferson chuckled. "We just found each other after two hundred years, I think we should give it all a little time to sink. It just happened minutes ago after all."

Hamilton huffed. "Fine. Then we're at least making out more."

Jefferson chuckled again, bring his face to Hamilton's and kissing him again softly. Hamilton bit his lip, turning it more fiery, kissing deeply.

Eventually, their extreme make out session tapered off into cuddling until they fell asleep, legs entangled, foreheads touching, arms around each other, both of them afraid they would wake up and it would have all been a dream.

**\----**


	22. Ink and Strings

 

The government dropped a bomb on Monticello the next morning, killing both Jefferson and Hamilton as they slept.

No! I'm just kidding! Kidding! I swear! Okay, story now.

**\----**

Hamilton woke to an empty bed. He shot up, alarmed, "Thomas?" he called, a little panic edging into his voice. It wasn't a dream, he was sure of it. "Thomas?" he called again, climbing out of bed trying to calm his voice.

The door swung open, "Did you call me?" Jefferson asked, stepping into the room.

"Oh thank God," Hamilton breathed, shoulders sagging in relief. Jefferson stood in the doorway confused for a second before piecing it together himself. 

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have done that to you," he said, wrapping Hamilton in a hug.

Hamilton reveled in the warmth Jefferson always radiated for a moment before pulling away. "What're you doing up so early?"

Jefferson grinned, "Come downstairs and I'll show you." Hamilton followed Jefferson curiously to the kitchen where he found breakfast all laid out. "I made breakfast!" Jefferson said happily, "It's been ages since I've gotten a chance to cook and this was the perfect opportunity."

"I'm impressed you didn't make five pots of macaroni,"  Hamilton said.

"You know, a thank you would have done just as well."

Hamilton smiled and snatched a plate off the counter, loading it up with mounds of food, and sat down at the dining table in the next room, Jefferson followed soon after with his own plate of food. "It's been awhile since I've had a real meal," Jefferson said, "All I've had of late were those MRE's and that terrible excuse for oatmeal HQ likes to dish out." Hamilton didn't respond as he was too busy shoving food in his mouth and drowning it in coffee.

After breakfast, Jefferson went to change his clothes so he could wash them. "What do you expect to find?" Hamilton asked, "Even if some of your clothes were left here, they're probably no more than dust after all these years."

Jefferson paused on the stairs, "Shit, you're right. I guess I'll go see if those soldiers left any spare clothes that are near my size." Jefferson returned and threw some clothes in Hamilton's face, "Here these should fit you. Change so I can throw your set in the washer."

"These are machine washable?" Hamilton asked, referring to the Kevlar and bulletproof vest.

"Yeah, the vest and Kevlar just slip out and then you can throw them in the washer."

"What washer?" Hamilton rolled his eyes, "Thomas, we're in a museum. There is literally no electricity or anything."

"Fuck," Jefferson said, "I guess I'll just do laundry like I used to, with a washboard and a bucket of water. I lived like that once, I can do it again."

***

Jefferson hanged the clothes he washed up on a line to dry and stood back, proud of his accomplishment. "Alexander," he called, walking back inside, "I'm going to take my morning ride now, I'll be back in an hour or so."

Hamilton appeared in a doorway, "Yeah?" he asked, "And how are you going to do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't have horses anymore, Thomas." 

Jefferson stared blankly at the wall. "Right...I don't have any horses..."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm fine. I'll just....I'll just go sign some bills or something..." Jefferson started to walk off for his office. Hamilton grabbed his shoulders and made Jefferson face him. 

"Thomas, you don't have any bills to pass. You're not in the 1800's anymore. You're not the president anymore."

Jefferson blinked slowly, "Right. Of course. You're right." Jefferson shook his head, "Sorry, I'm good, I swear."

"Are you sure you don't need to lie down?" Hamilton asked, not letting him go yet.

"No, no, I'm fine. Look, Alexander, I'm good. I just got confused for a moment."

Hamilton studied him for a moment before he finally let him go, "If you say so."

"So what do we do then?" Jefferson asked.

That's when it hit Hamilton. They had absolutely nothing to do. Jefferson didn't have his plantation to tend to or papers to sign. Hamilton didn't have any letters to send out or clients to see to. They had absolutely nothing. "I have no idea..." They both stood there, unsure what to do with themselves. "Do you think there's still a pair of my reading glasses around here somewhere?"

"Probably tucked away in a drawer or something. Why?"

"I've got a book to read," Hamilton stated.

Jefferson's face turned tomato red, "Oh, well," he coughed, "you go do that...and I'll, ah, I'm going to take a walk around the land and see what's become of my Monticello," he said, briskly walking off.

"What's in that book?" Hamilton wondered aloud. Jefferson knew and just turned bright red when Hamilton brought it up. He searched the house, eventually finding his old pair of glasses in the back of a drawer in his old desk. Sliding them onto his face, he curled up on his favorite couch and opened the cover of the book and began to read the tidy scrawl that he immediately recognized as Jefferson's handwriting. It read:

_My dearest, Alexander,_

_Ever since we first met, we have treated each other with a mutual hate. A feeling that has surely grown into unadulterated loathing for you, but for me, that feeling is_ _unexisting_ _. Sometimes I can't stand you and you're backward political views, but it has taken me all this time to finally piece together that I look forward to every cabinet meeting just so we can argue our points, just so I can see your face. I know that I'm telling you this in the most cowardly way possible, but I cannot bring myself to tell you to your face when I know that you'll laugh and use this as slander against me in your next publication. It's no matter. Do what you wish with this, just know that I care for you and you can count on me for support._

_Yours,_

_Thomas Jefferson_

Hamilton reread the passage, Jefferson had written this way before they were even on friendly terms, how long was he building up the courage to offer him this book when Hamilton snapped and dropped it on the floor and left. How much did that hurt?

He looked back down at the pages, there was more.

_My Dearest, Alexander,_

_It seems you have yet to read this, even after you have practically moved in with me, so I decided to add more. Not a day passes when I don't secretly thank Eliza for burning down your house just so I can have you here with me. I know it's selfish, but every night I go to sleep knowing you're just a few steps away. It gives me great pleasure to be around you, even if it's just to be on the receiving end of your barbed insults. Every word is a gift._

_With My Deepest Affections,_

_Thomas Jefferson_

_My Dearest, Alexander,_

_I found the book lying around in the library of Monticello, no doubt you meant to read it but got distracted by my playing the violin. Knowing I have you with me in my life now fills my chest with the greatest elation. Every night I'm afraid of falling asleep and waking only to find the entire thing a dream. That night when I finally held you in my arms is indescribable, the emotion that flooded my chest when I finally felt your lips on mine. All I can do is hope is that the day will never come when you walk out my door and never return, no doubt throwing yourself into some idiotic danger you tend to find yourself in. I wish to spend every second in your arms, but I know it to be impossible when I'm to no doubt be called back to serve the nation. But I'll do everything in my power to always be there for you._

_I love you dearly,_

_Thomas Jefferson_

Hamilton closed the book softly, how long was Jefferson waiting for him to read this? All that time? Long before they even went to Monticello. Before Hamilton went back to Eliza. All that time. All that time this was waiting for him. They would have had so much more time together if Hamilton had just opened the book, but he didn't and then Jefferson died. Jefferson died and now Hamilton could never tell him how he felt.

No, Jefferson was with him. Jefferson was alive and well and still waiting for Hamilton. He was waiting for Hamilton to be sure he wanted to be with Jefferson.

Well, of course, he wanted to be with Jefferson, why wouldn't he be? Why was that even in question? Did Jefferson still hold some uncertainty? Thinking Hamilton may somehow still hate him? There was no way Hamilton could hate Jefferson. Bicker with him, sure. Did Hamilton think he was an idiot, definitely, but hate him? No, Hamilton couldn't bring himself truly hate Jefferson ever since the day he found out Jefferson was shot and still didn't break while they were in prison together all that time ago.

Or even before then, two hundred years ago, when he first fell for him. He didn't know when he stopped hating him then, but he had.

The thought suddenly hit Hamilton in the chest, how many times had he offhandedly told Jefferson he hated him, even though he didn't mean it? So many times. Hamilton couldn't even count. He'd been so stupid. Why was he so stupid?

Hamilton got off the couch, went upstairs, placed the book on his nightstand to read more later. There was much more written in the margins and in-between the lines. For now, he searched for his cello. It probably wouldn't be where he left it, it'd be some weird place where the historians decided it belonged. After about fifteen minutes of hunting, he finally located it. He was sure he was going to have to replace the strings and find a new bow after all the time that had passed, but when he picked it up and dusted it off, he found that time hadn't even touched it.

***

Why did Jefferson write all those embarrassing things? Why did he used to be so bent on Hamilton reading it? It was so stupid. He was so stupid. Hamilton was going to laugh at him. Jefferson laid his hand on the doorknob of the front door. Maybe Hamilton got distracted and didn't read it after all. He tended to do that.

Honestly, Jefferson couldn't decide if he wanted Hamilton to read it or forget about it. He was torn. He wanted Hamilton to read it because it told him how Jefferson felt, but at the same time, it was really terribly written. He could've written it better. Why didn't he rewrite it in the other copy and switch them out? It was so cheesy and cliche. Hamilton hated cheesy. What had he been thinking?

He finally swung open the door and stepped inside. That melody was playing in his head again. No, wait a minute, it was slightly different like it was the other half of the melody. And why was it on the cello and not the usual violin?

Jefferson froze. 

The melody wasn't in his head at all. It was floating from down the hallway. One hundred dollars says it's coming from the library. Jefferson quietly closed the front door and tiptoed down the hallway, pausing at the library door. Yep, definitely coming from the library. He listened for a moment. Who could play the cello other than him? Oh, that's right, Hamilton said he learned to play in secret.

Jefferson had died before he could hear him play.

It was their song. Of course, it was their song. A strange giddy feeling blossomed in Jefferson's chest, he slowly opened the library door, hoping not to be noticed and poked his head in. Hamilton was facing away from him, sitting on a stool in front of the fire with Jefferson's old cello tucked between his knees as he ran the bow over the strings expertly. The feeling in Jefferson's chest changed to something else entirely.

He stepped fully in, careful not to make any noise, and crept over to the corner of the room. Jefferson grabbed what he was looking for and stealthily made his way behind Hamilton. When he was standing right behind him, he watched Hamilton play for a minute. He played with his eyes closed, pouring every ounce of his emotion into the strings, knowing where each and every note was placed, his fingers dancing gracefully along the neck of the cello. God, he was so beautiful, the way the firelight flickered across his skin, the way his long hair had come loose and was falling in his face, the way his body moved as he glided the bow across the strings.

Jefferson smiled to himself and placed the violin to his chin, bow at the ready, and waited for the perfect moment, Jefferson knew exactly where it would be. Hamilton paused, repositioning his bow, getting ready to pluck the strings. Now! Right after Hamilton plucked the first note, Jefferson slid the bow across the violin's strings, joining with the violin's half of the song. It was a duet after all. It was meant to be played by both, all this time they'd been playing half a song. Finally, it was whole.

Hamilton kept playing, not even a falter at Jefferson's sudden appearance. So they played on, Jefferson standing at Hamilton's shoulder, placing his fingers with precision, each note clear and harmonic with Hamilton's. The song floated around them, warming the home and filling something they both had lost over two hundred years ago.

After the song finished, Jefferson gently lay down his violin and walked around Hamilton's stool, gingerly took the cello from him, and laid it down before turning back and faced him. Jefferson's heart raced both from the music and from the look Hamilton watched him with. It was completely open and vulnerable. He'd never seen Hamilton so unguarded. Jefferson crouched down in front of him, taking his hands in his, unable to bring himself to look into Hamilton's eyes, he inspected Hamilton's fingers instead. They were long and elegant, his fingertips still had line impressions on them from the strings of the cello. Jefferson's no doubt matched from his violin.

Hamilton disentangled one of his hands and raised Jefferson's head, forcing him to meet Hamilton's gaze, his hand moved and cupped Jefferson's face, "Thomas Jefferson," he said tenderly, Jefferson's heart pounded in his chest, it was so loud he swore Hamilton could hear it, "I love you." Jefferson's heart stopped. "Completely and fully. Until the end of time itself."

Jefferson couldn't move. That or time stopped. Maybe he died. He didn't know. All he did know was that he loved the man sitting before him. Always had. Always will. But could he say it back? Would saying it back be like being the last one to say thank you? Like he hadn't thought of it until after someone else said it first? Did it matter with this? Could he even get his mouth to work?

"Alexander Hamilton," he said finally, his voice raw with emotion. He stumbled for a second, unable to form words properly, so he did what anyone would do in that situation, he switched languages. "Mon amour, mon coeur, mon âme. Mon Alexander. Vous ne pouvez jamais savoir à quel point mon amour est profond pour vous."  _My love, my heart, my soul. My Alexander. You can never know how deep my love is for you._

"Thomas," Hamilton whispered.

"Shh, my love," Jefferson hushed, closing the distance between them so that their foreheads touched and their breath mingled, "No more words."

Hamilton captured Jefferson's lips with his own, hands dragging down Jefferson's chest, slipping around and grasping his ass. Jefferson didn't let him get much farther before he picked him up and carried him upstairs, just like the night before. Hamilton took advantage of every second.

Jefferson pushed open the bedroom door and fell backward onto the bed, kicking off his shoes in the process. Hamilton straddled Jefferson, biting his lip and tugging, "Does this mean you're ready now?" Hamilton whispered into his ear.

"Yes," Thomas said huskily, his hands pulling Hamilton's hips tight against him.

"It's only been a day," Hamilton whispered.

"It's been two hundred fucking years and in each rendition, I've wanted to fuck you and if I don't do it now, I'm going to think that we're never going to get the chance."

Hamilton smirked, kissing along his Jefferson's jaw, nipping until he came back to his lips and crashed them together. If there was one thing Hamilton knew Jefferson was good at, it was kissing, because dear god he kissed back with a passion. Hamilton buried a hand in Jefferson's hair, pulling hard, making him gasp out and moan in pleasure, making it easy for him to slip his tongue into Jefferson's mouth, delving deep and fast. 

Hamilton broke away just long enough for a couple shirts to disappear, then he was working down Jefferson's neck, sucking and marking and biting where he knew it would affect him most. He was right, Jefferson was moaning under him. Hamilton rocked his hips into him, feeling along Jefferson's hardness through their clothes. "Fuck, Thomas,"

"That's what we're doing," Jefferson said heavily with a smirk. Hamilton kissed him roughly, just to get him to shut up, his hands working at Jefferson's pants. That's when he noticed his own were already gone. "How do you do that?"

Jefferson chuckled, kissing Hamilton's neck, "Magic," he smiled, sucking at Hamilton's skin. Jefferson's pants finally slid free, Hamilton ground against him, the pressure and heat building between the two. At one point, Hamilton realized Jefferson was splayed out, completed naked, under him and he had to take a second to marvel at the view, running his hands all the way down Jefferson's chest, then gently stroked Jefferson's hard length.

"Shit, Alexander," Hamilton smirked dangerously, "What're you-oh fuck!" Jefferson swore, arching his back when Hamilton ran his tongue along his length, swirling his tongue around and gently sucking at the tip before he pulled away. "Alexander," Jefferson moaned. 

"You liked that, did you?"

Thomas growled and flipped them over, pinning Hamilton beneath him, "Teasing isn't nice."

Hamilton grinned up at him, "Oh? And you think you could do better?"

Jefferson lowered his mouth to his ear, letting his hot breath tickle against the sensitive skin. "I know I can." Hamilton shivered.

"I'm so fucked."

Jefferson smirked and ground their hips together, bending down and sucking harshly at Hamilton's neck, savoring each pleasured moan that poured from between Hamilton's lips. His hand wrapped firmly around Hamilton's cock, making Hamilton curse and sputter. "You haven't proven anything yet," Hamilton moaned.

"I haven't even started yet, darlin',"

"Shit."

Jefferson laughed and slid his hand along the hardness in his palm. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes,"

"Do you want me to fuck you so hard into the bed that you won't want to move tomorrow?"

"Oh god yes."

"I don't think you deserve it."

"Will you shut the fuck up and get on with it already?"

Jefferson laughed and released his grip on Hamilton, holding his fingers to Hamilton's mouth instead. "Suck darlin,'"

"I don't need prepping."

"Yes, you do. Now suck."

Hamilton took Jefferson's fingers into his mouth and lathered them up until they were nice and slick, holding Jefferson's gaze as if to say this was pointless. Jefferson simply hummed in response, removing his fingers and prodding them at his entrance. Hamilton shifted, trying to get Jefferson to just give him  _something_  already. "Teasing isn't nice."

Jefferson chuckled and slid a finger into him. Hamilton hummed, "I told you, I don't need to be prepped."

"Really? Because you feel rather tight to me," Jefferson replied, sliding in another finger and curling them.

Hamilton sucked in a breath. "I stand by what I said."

Thomas slipped in another finger and stretched him, scissoring. "I believe you," he hummed. He removed his fingers and lined himself up, resting against Hamilton's entrance. He leaned down and kissed him. "Ready?"

"Hurry the fuck up."

Jefferson laughed, gripped Hamilton's hips and bit down hard into his neck as he slammed his full length into Hamilton. Hamilton screamed bloody murder.

"FUCK! SHIT FUCK THOMAS!"

"You alright?"

"You were right, I should've let you prep me more," he panted.

Jefferson let him adjust, opting to kiss him while he waited. "You feel delightful," he murmured. "I can't wait to fuck you into the mattress, moaning my name as if it were your very life."

"Thomas-"

"Yes, darlin'?"

"Move."

"You sure? You don't look ready yet."

"I said move!"

Jefferson pulled out and slammed back into him, making Hamilton cry out from the mix of searing pain and indescribable pleasure. Jefferson thrust into him again, moaning right along with him, the air cool against their skin but somehow still sweltering hot as their passions grew more intense with every thrust that penetrated Hamilton deeper and deeper until Jefferson was pounding relentlessly into the man below him that clutched onto the sheets for dear life, arching to meet Jefferson each time.

And when Jefferson finally found that sensitive bundle of nerves, Hamilton came completely apart in his hands, cumming with no warning except Thomas' name spilling from his lips almost religiously.

"Alexander," Jefferson gasped right after as release shuddered down his spine and filled Hamilton, both of them moaning with all their lung power from the intense pleasure still coursing through their bodies. Jefferson went limp, collapsing down on top of Hamilton, both panting heavily. Jefferson took a moment to catch his breath before lifting himself up and kissing Hamilton again, "I'm going to go find something to clean us up."

"Don't go,"

Jefferson chuckled, "I'll be right back darlin'," he said, pulling out, making Hamilton gasp in his sensitive state, bending down and kissing him again before wandering off for something to clean them up with. He returned shortly, quickly taking care of Hamilton before lying next to the man, pulling him tightly against him. Jefferson leaned over, lightly kissed Hamilton's jaw and whispered, "I love you," before laying back down, arms wrapped around him. Hamilton mumbled something back incoherently, tracing circles on Jefferson's hand before falling asleep.

**\----**


	23. Crumbling Foundations

 

"I've decided that Monticello needs some massive updating," Jefferson said, stalking in the living room from the kitchen.

"Missing your fancy gas stove?" Hamilton asked from the couch, turning a page of his book.

"Yes! As a matter of fact, the entire place needs to be remodeled," Jefferson announced. He pointed dramatically at a wall, "Starting with that wall right there. It needs to go. And the stairs! Complete do-over. And don't even get me started on the bedroom."

"Didn't you design this place yourself? Why are you complaining?"

"Yes, I did design this place myself. About a million different times. Do you know how many times I've torn it down and started over?"

"Well, you can't do that anymore."

"Why the fuck not?" Jefferson asked, crossing his arms. "It's my house."

Hamilton sighed and shut his book, "Maybe once, but that was two hundred years ago. Now it's a historical landmark. The only reason we've gotten away with staying here so far is because the government shut it down to use as a base, so there's no tourists or official people around right now. What're you going to do? March up and demand it be turned over to you because you're Thomas Jefferson and it's rightfully yours?"

"But I  _am_  Thomas Jefferson and it  _is_  rightfully mine."

Hamilton snorted, "Good luck convincing other people that. You'll probably just get thrown into a mental hospital."

"Well, why did it end up as a museum then? I left it to you."

"Yeah, and I died about nine years later."

"Who'd you leave it to?"

"Madison."

"Ah. Yep, that explains it. He has my journal too. I need to get that back," Jefferson sighed, collapsing on the couch next to Hamilton, laying his head in his lap. "But this is my home. This is where you and I became more. This is where all our memories are. I can't give that up."

"We could build an exact replica."

Jefferson thought for a moment. "No, it wouldn't be right. Mostly because I would redesign it."

"You want to redesign this one anyway."

"But the story is still there! It's the same foundation, the same hill, the same sunset, if we move, it'll be gone. This is where we truly found each other, what if we die and come back again and can't find each other because all this is gone?"

"Thomas, stop," Hamilton said sternly. "You can't just steal such an import historical location from the nation."

"What nation, Hamilton?" Jefferson asked. "What nation do you see? Every state in the Eastern States of America left the Union a long time ago. The government is just in disbelief and refusing to acknowledge it. We're basically in the nation of Virginia."

"You know, you have a point there," Hamilton said, gears turning in his head. "This is government land and there is no government anymore. So this is conquered land. Maybe you can claim it. It's far-fetched and probably never going to work, but we could give it a try."

"Or," Jefferson went on, "I'll let you cook and when you accidentally burn the house down, we can claim it was lost in the war, the land will lose its significance, I can buy the land, and then I can remodel. That sounds way easier."

"You're suggesting arson?"

Jefferson shrugged, "I'm owed something for coming back from the dead just to fix this stupid nation, why not make it my home?"

Hamilton sighed, opening his book again on top of Jefferson's face. "Whatever you want. But we're stashing everything in the library."

"Deal," Jefferson said from underneath Hamilton's book.

"Speaking of the government, why don't you think they've retaliated against us taking over their base?" Hamilton asked.

"Ah, I've got a theory about this. You see, their commander probably got a report saying that you and I broke out of a maximum-security prison by simply slaughtering every soldier in the place. Then he got one that said that we, plus a ragtag group of volunteers, stole a tank from the middle of enemy ranks, in the middle of a battle with seemingly very little effort. Then the next report rolled in about us decimating their army when they had the entire rebel force trapped. So the commander's sitting trying to figure out how to get rid of these two guys that keep blowing his plans apart by pulling off insane shit that should never even work when another report rolls in saying that we took a leave of absence. He sitting there celebrating when he gets told that after our immediate departure, we wiped out every soldier here at Monticello. So he's like okay, odd, what're they doing now? Living peacefully, with seemingly no intention of moving their asses anywhere anytime soon. So the Commander is like, fuck, don't touch them, leave them be and pray they don't fight anymore."

"Yeah....Or they think it was an actual rebel move made by a regiment of soldiers that are now holding the base, so they're amassing a force to attack. It's only been, what? Two days since we took the base?" Hamilton said.

"My version is more badass."

"Your version is ridiculous."

"You're ridiculous," Jefferson shot back. Hamilton lightly smacked Jefferson with his book in response.

Jefferson leaped from Hamilton's lap, spun around, planted a kiss on Hamilton's lips, and strode out the door with a purposeful stride. Curious, Hamilton shut his book with a snap and followed him out. Hamilton found him standing on the front lawn, staring ahead, unmoving.

"What're you doing, mon chéri?" Hamilton asked, placing a hand on Jefferson's back.

"Where'd all these trees come from?" Jefferson asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Where are my fields? They were right there where the trees are. How did they get there so fast?"

"Thomas..."

Jefferson stared off for a moment, his eyes unfocusing. "Oh..." he stated simply after a moment. "Right. Sorry. No fields for farming anymore."

"Thomas, why don't you and I go lie down for a little while? Spend some time together. Relax," Hamilton proposed, worrying about Jefferson.

"No," Jefferson replied, "I think I'll take a walk. Clear my head."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's fine. I'll be fine. I'd take a horse, but I don't have any anymore," he replied. "You go ahead and finish your book. I'll be back soon," he said as he walked off, following some invisible path he seemed to remember from the old days, now long hidden underneath the growth of nature.

Hamilton watched him go, wanting to go with him but knowing Jefferson wanted to be alone and the best thing to do was to respect that. So when he couldn't see Jefferson's back through the trees anymore, he walked back inside the house and continued reading his book as Jefferson suggested.

**\----**


	24. Mind and Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've marked real life quotes by framing them in * *

When Jefferson returned he looked more drained and haggard than when he had left. The front door clicked softly shut behind him as he entered, collapsing on the couch, his head in his hands. Hamilton immediately moved to rub his shoulders, trying to help him relax. "What is it, Thomas? Did something happen?"

Jefferson took a deep breath. "I can't keep any of it straight. In my head. It's all jumbled around in knots and everything is clashing into each other. I just can't make sense of it."

"Your memories?"

"I don't think the mind is meant to be able to remember growing up, living, dying, and doing it all over again."

"Just give it time, I'm sure it'll sort itself out. I can remember just fine, just give it some time." Hamilton worked at a knot in Jefferson's back.

"You're right," Jefferson sighed. "It's only been two days since everything came back. I just need to let it settle. Oooh, that feels good. Keep doing that."

Hamilton smiled slightly and kneaded with a little more pressure. Jefferson slowly relaxed beneath his fingertips. He lightly pressed a kiss to Jefferson's neck, slipping his arms around his waist. Jefferson's breathing was deep and rhythmed. He had fallen asleep. Hamilton pulled Jefferson further into the couch, pulling him down so that he lay comfortably tucked into Hamilton's arms. "Sleep well, mon coeur," Hamilton whispered.

***

"Thomas, I'm going to make a trip to town to pick up some supplies. We're running low on food," Hamilton announced, pulling on his armored layers and tucking his knives into their proper places.

"Give me a moment and I'll go with you," Jefferson said, getting up to grab his own set of armored clothes.

"No, no," Hamilton said hurriedly, stuffing his wallet in a pocket, "I got it."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm going with you. What if you someone recognizes you and you get in trouble with a mob again? You'll need me to rescue your ass again."

"Now you're being ridiculous. You're by far more recognizable than me. And the two of us together will no doubt be noticed. It's better if I go by myself," Hamilton explained, heading for the door.

Jefferson crossed his arms, "Alright, fine. Go by yourself then. I'll just go take a long, hot bath all by myself. Maybe, see if I can find any of that shampoo you loved so much," Jefferson said, making his way upstairs, leaving Hamilton in the doorway.

That motherfucker. Hamilton set his jaw, "Okay, have fun with that, I'll be home in a few hours." He left, closing the door behind him with a click. Jefferson sighed from the top of the stairs, he was hoping Hamilton would take the bait.

He took his bath, which took a lot more work than he thought to set up, considering he had to bring in all the water bucket by bucket and heat it up in the fireplace. He even did manage to find some of that shampoo, and after a bit of rehydration treatment, it was still as good as he remembered.

After he finished, he didn't have much else to do. Hamilton still wasn't home and wouldn't be for a long time yet. Town was pretty far away. He didn't really have any idea about what to do. He supposed he could play his violin or read a book. He had plenty in the library he hadn't gotten a chance to read before he died, but it felt like that's all he did anymore. Read and play. Nothing else that had any real meaning. As happy as he would be to spend the rest of his life in domestic bliss, he needed a new hobby. He usually has so much to do, but now...

He used to run a plantation, ride horseback all the time, he invented new things, hunted for fossils, design new buildings, including the Virginia state capital. He used to be an avid astronomer, he was fond of mathematics, and he even used to keep mockingbirds. He missed his mockingbird, he used to let it perch on his shoulder during presidential meetings. And his gardens, oh his gardens used to be magnificent. He put so much work into them.

Now it was all gone. At least he still had his cooking. He was a master cook after all. Hamilton loved his cooking. Maybe not his mac and cheese, but he loved everything else.

That's what Jefferson could do, he could start some of his old passions again. The garden first. He could get his hands in the soil, he needed some real work to do right now.

He located some tools and found where his garden used to be. What was once covered in the most beautiful flowers and collections of plants from all over the world was now just a mess of weeds and bushes. He used to have so many rare and strange plants growing here and to see it all gone broke his heart.

Well, all he could do was get to work. He started pulling up weeds left and right, sweat dripping down his face as he worked under the hot afternoon sun. After an hour or two of backbreaking work, he stood and admired the large section of land that was now weed free. Now he needed to till up the soil. Of course, he couldn't use a plow, he didn't have a horse. The shovel then. One shovel full of dirt at a time. He could do this. It felt good to be at work again.

***

Jefferson had to take another bath. By the time the sun had set, he'd been covered in soil and sweat. Now he sat leisurely in the library, reading another book on governmental theory. He'd been halfway through when Hamilton finally burst through the front door, carrying several bags of food. Jefferson shut his book and made his way over, "Do you need any help?"

"Sure, there's more in the car."

"The car? We have a- oh right! I forgot about the car." Well, it was more of a military Jeep, but they were so accustomed to it, it was just a car to them. They had driven it from the rebel camp to Monticello and parked it a mile down the road and walked the rest of the way in so they wouldn't be noticed. Hamilton went and retrieved it apparently. Jefferson helped Hamilton bring in the rest of the food, nothing that needed to be refrigerated because they didn't have one and didn't have the old freeze box set up. Once everything was inside, Jefferson immediately set about making dinner like he did every other night. He never let Hamilton anywhere near food anymore, he always had a way of causing something to go wrong just by standing there. Jefferson ushered him out and threw some wood in the wood stove along with some charcoal so he could cook some meat.

After dinner, Jefferson went back to reading his book, he'd been at a very interesting part when Hamilton had finally come home. Hamilton, however, had some very different ideas, he curled right up next to Jefferson a laid his head on his shoulder.

"Mmm, so you did find that shampoo," Hamilton murmured.

"Yep," Jefferson said, turning a page.

"Have a nice bath?"

"Extremely relaxing. Nice and hot and steamy," Jefferson teased.

Hamilton wrapped one of Jefferson's curls around his fingers, twirling it and untwirling it again, "I think I need a bath too," he said, his voice sultry.

"There's a bucket upstairs for the water," Jefferson informed, turning another page.

"Care to join me?" Hamilton asked, kissing Jefferson's jaw.

"Darlin, I think you need hot water first."

Hamilton leaped to his feet and went to fetch water for a bath. He went through the steps that Jefferson had already gone through twice that day. Jefferson smirked to himself, hearing Hamilton's footsteps hurry about.

Hamilton finally returned, "Okay, the bath's ready."

"Alright darlin, I'll be here when you're done," Jefferson said, not looking up from his book.

"Aren't you going to join me?" Hamilton asked.

"I already bathed today, twice. I don't need another one."

"Is this because I didn't stay earlier?"

"Nope. I'm already clean. And you smell, so go take a bath and then you can come cuddle up against me all you want," Jefferson said. Hamilton huffed and left to go take his bath.

When he returned, Hamilton plopped down on the couch right next to Jefferson and looked over his shoulder to see the book he was holding. "What're you reading?"

"A book on governmental theory."

"Another one? How many of those do you have?" Hamilton asked.

"An entire section. I expect we'll be needing it soon so I figured I'd get a head start. You should pick one up to."

"I've already read half of them, I think I'll take tonight off," Hamilton said. "Why don't you take tonight off too?"

"I took yesterday off."

Hamilton pressed more kisses to Jefferson's skin, "So?" he hummed.

"Darlin, I'm trying to read."

Hamilton pulled away and got to his feet, extending a hand to Jefferson, "At least play with me."

Jefferson looked up and smiled. Closing his book, he took Hamilton's hand and stood up only to be swept into a deep kiss. He immediately wrapped his arms around Hamilton, pulling his closer, unable to resist.

"This is not playing," Jefferson said in-between kisses.

"In a moment."

Jefferson pulled away against Hamilton's protests. "Come on darlin, I want to see those fingers of yours dance across those strings."

"I'd rather see them dance across something else," Hamilton mumbled under his breath as he let Jefferson pull them over to their instruments.

***

The next morning, Hamilton was up before Jefferson for once, who was usually up to make breakfast. He ripped the covers off the bed, "Rise and shine! The birds are singing! It's a beautiful day! Up you get!"

"Alexander?" Jefferson mumbled sleepily, curling into a ball. "Give me my blankets backs, it's cold," Jefferson complained.

"Nope! It's time to get up!"

"No, it's not, I've got another hour. Why are you up so early?"

"No reason just felt like it. Now come on! Let's go take an early morning walk."

"Let me sleeep."

"I will drag you out of bed by your ankles."

Jefferson groaned, "Fine, just let me get dressed."

As soon as he was, Hamilton practically dragged him out the door, grinning all the while.

"You're up to something," Jefferson stated. Hamilton didn't bother responding as they rounded the corner of the house and came to a halt. Hamilton stared straight ahead before looking at Jefferson expectantly.

Jefferson looked where Hamilton was looking and gasped. "You didn't-"

"I did," Hamilton said happily, shifting from foot to foot. Before he knew it, Jefferson grabbed him and pulled him into a passionate kiss, Jefferson embracing him tightly their bodies flush against each other. Hamilton's hands snaked their way into Jefferson's hair, softly tugging the soft curls he loved so much. Jefferson gasped slightly against his mouth, pressing tighter and moving more desperately, Hamilton chuckled at Jefferson's response, loving it every time, gently yanking on his hair again.

Jefferson pushed him against the wall of the house, pinning Hamilton's hands above his head, breaking the kiss, "You drive me crazy," he breathed.

"If I had known this would be your reaction, I would've gotten you them much sooner," Hamilton smiled mischievously up at him. Jefferson pressed his body against Hamilton's, letting him feel just how happy he was. Hamilton hissed but was cut off by another intense kiss from Jefferson. If Hamilton could move his arms and get his hands back in Jefferson's hair, he knew exactly how this would end, but his hands were pinned above him by one Jefferson's arms and the other tilting Hamilton's head up, allowing Jefferson better access.

When Jefferson finally broke away and let Hamilton's arms drop back to his sides, Hamilton was breathless and needed a minute before he could trust himself to walk straight. Luckily, Jefferson didn't seem ready to move either, he was still tightly pressed against Hamilton, his head resting on Hamilton's shoulder, breathing in his scent, hands entwined in Hamilton's.

"Dear, the sun has fully risen now, I think it's time we moved," Hamilton said, wanting to have his cup of coffee that he forgot about in his excitement. "Why don't you go take your ride and we can have breakfast when you get back?"

Jefferson hummed happily as he finally pulled completely away, hands lingering for just a moment. "Why don't you come with me?" he asked, staring at the pair of beautiful horses standing before him.

"Maybe later, I know you like your morning rides to be solitary."

Jefferson nodded, "*One travels more usefully when alone, because he reflects more.* Later then, you and I are going to ride deep into that forest and not return for a long, long time," Jefferson promised.

"I look forward to it," Hamilton hummed, "Now go! Before I decide to make breakfast myself and burn the house down."

"Don't do that," Jefferson said, mounting the horse, "As much as I would love to remodel, I don't think it's the right time."

"Go! Shoo! Go away!" Hamilton waved him off like a fly.

Jefferson smiled and took off at a full gallop, riding like a knight off to battle for king and country. His body matched the beating of the horse's hooves as they pounded away, elegance and grace and pure muscle.

Oh, Hamilton was definitely riding that beautiful man tonight.

**\----**

 


	25. Old Wounds

 

Several days passed since Hamilton got Jefferson those horses and though life was overall the happiest it could be, Hamilton's worry for Jefferson was increasing. He slipped back in time more and more often, talking about the politics of the eighteen hundreds. Sometimes he would look around and then ask Hamilton why he was here and not at the presidential mansion doing everything he could to prevent a future war with France or England, other times it'd be why he wasn't in France trying to secure a treaty so they would help America fight for their freedom from the British Crown. Sometimes he would act as though everything was normal until Hamilton pulled out his phone or cleaned one of his guns. Jefferson would take it from him and inspect it like he'd never seen it before, asking how the magazine worked to allow one to fire it without reloading every shot, or how the screen of the phone lit up and moved when touched.

He'd always snap back to himself after a second, sometimes Hamilton didn't even have to point it out, Jefferson would just hand it back to him silently and go pound his head against the wall, go for a walk, or just sigh and let Hamilton hold his head while he stared absently at the ceiling. Why this was such a problem for Jefferson and not Hamilton, he didn't know, at least until one night.

Jefferson woke up screaming, clutching at his chest, sweat drenching his body. Hamilton was instantly awake and trying to soothe him as he frantically looked around, trying to get his bearings. When he finally realized he was a Monticello and Hamilton was beside him, he finally started to relax, but his hand remained clutched to his chest.

"What is it, Thomas? What happened?" Hamilton asked after Jefferson seemed to have calmed down.

"You won't believe this," Jefferson said shakily, "You and I left Monticello and returned to New York where I became president. You came to visit me one night as a way of saying goodbye just in case you would die in an upcoming duel with Burr. Well, I found out, naturally, and followed you there, where I found you facing off with Burr. My chest was filled with dread and I just knew that if I didn't get you out of there, you would never return to Monticello with me to live out a happy life. So of course, I shouted, but you didn't hear me, I ran for you but I knew I wouldn't make it in time, so I settled of blocking the bullet's path instead. I had to protect you. A-and, I died. Alexander, I died. You never die in dreams, you always wake up, but I died. It felt so real. I'm glad it wasn't though," Jefferson said, entwining his hand with Hamilton's. "You're still with me. I'm still alive. We're still in Monticello. Let's not go back to New York, okay? Let's just stay here."

"Thomas,"

"Please, Alexander. I know you always have to be in the thick of things, but please, at least until after the election of 1800. Then we can go do whatever you want."

"Thomas-"

"How about we go travel Europe? All of it. We can visit Lafayette on our way through. He'd enjoy that. You know, he'd be the one person that didn't care that we're together. He'd be overjoyed."

"Thomas-"

"I bet he'd throw a party. You know what, nevermind. That's probably not a good idea. He wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about it."

"Thomas!" Hamilton said sternly, finally catching Jefferson's attention.

"What?" Jefferson asked, looking at him.

"You did die. Your dream was real."

"What? No, I didn't die, look at me, I'm right in front of you, beating heart, working lungs. Still alive."

"You died over two hundred years ago in a duel with Aaron Burr on the 11th of July in 1804."

"That's ridiculous, it's January, 1799." Hamilton let him think for a moment. Jefferson closed his eyes, "Shit." Hamilton rubbed his back. "Shit, I can't believe I keep doing this."

"Take your time-"

"No! Don't you see? It's getting worse. Every day it happens more and more often."

"It just takes time-"

"Alexander, listen to me. This is not normal. None of this is normal. I'm not supposed to be here, we're not supposed to be here. We died. Do you understand that? We  _died._  Dead. Gone. No longer of this earth."

"But we  _are_  here, Thomas. Against all logic and reason, we  _are_ here."

"But why _? Why_ are we here?"

Hamilton thought for a moment, "To fix the country."

"What right do we have to fix the country? We're dead! *The earth belongs to the living, not to the dead.*"

"Thomas, we are  _alive_ , you have to get that through your head. We are alive, we are affected by what happens in the world. We bleed, we cry, we feel pain, we laugh. If we get shot in the head, we die, if we get stabbed in the heart, we die. We can die because we're alive. We are living. Okay?"

"Okay," Jefferson replied, shoulders slumping, hands rubbing his face, "I think I need a walk."

"No."

"What?" Jefferson asked, pausing.

"I said no," Hamilton repeated, climbing out of bed and walking around to Jefferson.

"It's never been a problem before."

"It's never been this bad before," Hamilton responded, stopping in front of Jefferson, crossing his arms defiantly. His stance and posture told Jefferson he was serious and he wasn't going to move out of the way.

"Fine," Jefferson said, slightly irritated, but too exhausted to fight back. "What is it you'd rather me do?"

Hamilton took one of Jefferson's hands and held it to his bare chest, "Do you feel that?" Hamilton asked, trying not to wince when Jefferson's ice cold hands came into contact with his skin. Shit, they were cold.

"What exactly?"

"My heartbeat." Jefferson remained silent, his gaze lowered. "Look at me," Hamilton commanded, holding Jefferson hand to his chest still. Jefferson met his gaze. "Do you feel it?"

Jefferson watched Hamilton's stubborn eyes intently, admiring the how the deep brown looked black in this light, like Jefferson could get lost in them forever. In fact, he could. "Yes," he whispered.

Hamilton placed his own hand on Jefferson's bare chest. "I can feel yours too. You know what that means?" Jefferson waited. "It means that there's warm blood pumping through veins. Blood that quickens when we kiss, blood that bleeds when we're cut, blood that slows when we sleep. Blood that flows in our bodies. It keeps us alive. And as long as our hearts are pumping, we are alive. It doesn't matter why, it doesn't matter if we already lived, it doesn't matter if we already died. We are alive now and I'll be damned if we don't wring every second we can out of it. So now you and I are going to climb back into bed and we are going to hold each other close enough that we can feel each other's heartbeat. Got it?"

Jefferson smiled slightly, "Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"Would you rather sleep on the couch?"

Jefferson laughed and pressed a quick kiss to Hamilton's lips, "Thank you, darlin."

"Oh get into bed for fuck's sake."

**\----**


	26. Unexpected Visitor

 

The next day, when Jefferson was setting lunch out on the table, a knock sounded at the door. Hamilton and Jefferson both exchanged a glance before rushing to put their walking armories on. Jefferson answered the door, putting every bit of charm into his smile and his words.

"Well hello there and who might you-" Jefferson's words cut short. "What're you doing here?" he asked, his tone turning icy.

"To talk of course," said the man standing on the front porch.

"About what?"

"The war," the man answered simply.

Jefferson grit his teeth but open the door wider and stepped aside, "Please, join us for lunch then. There's plenty for everyone."

"Why thank you, it's much appreciated," the man said, stepping inside and removing his hat. "Such a lovely place you got here. It really seems as if it belongs to you, Mr. Jefferson," he said offhandedly. Jefferson rose an eyebrow at Hamilton, questioning the implications behind the man's words.

Hamilton stood in the doorway to the dining room, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder against the doorframe, hip cocked to the side. The man stepped forward and held out his hand, "George William Frederick Hanover, but most call me George the Third. Feel free to call me George."

"I know who you are," Hamilton said, his voice steel. "Lunch is in the dining room."

George smiled and walked past him into the room and took a seat, Hamilton and Jefferson following him. He scooped up food onto his plate, "So tell me, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Jefferson, why is it you're hanging out here and not fighting in the war?"

"Confidential," Hamilton replied.

"Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot. No sharing intelligence with the enemy. Of course, how rude of me. So let me ask a different question. Why are we fighting this war?" Shit, this was going to be a long day. Hamilton got up and retrieved several bottles of different alcohol and some glasses.

"*I have sworn upon the altar of God, eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man,*" Jefferson replied easily, taking a sip of the wine Hamilton had just poured him, Hamilton knew him so well. Wine was perfect.

"Are you saying you think me a tyrant?" George said in feigned surprise, hand to his chest, the other pouring himself some brandy.

"You'd fancy yourself a king if the rest of your friends weren't standing there with you," Hamilton said snidely.

"King George III, perhaps?" Jefferson remarked, sharing a look with Hamilton.

George looked between the two men suspiciously as if sensing there was more meaning behind those words. "It certainly has a nice ring to it. Perhaps if my associates were to disappear. Or maybe we'll just fancy all of us kings."

"I think your ego has gone to your head," Hamilton replied.

George scowled, "Either way, this war is absolutely unnecessary. All it will do is spill blood and change nothing."

"*The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants*," Jefferson said, taking another sip of his red wine.

"If you didn't come here to compromise, then why are you here?" Hamilton asked.

"Because I thought I should remind you of my love."

"Your love is only for those who see things the way you do," Jefferson spat.

"Is that such a bad thing?" George asked.

"Yes," Hamilton and Jefferson said immediately.

"I don't see how. The only reason you say that is because you have a different view and you hate me for not seeing it the way you do. I'd say that's a little hypocritical," George said, looking at his glass.

"Every other word you utter oppresses like eighty percent of the population," Hamilton said, anger rising.

"Most of the laws are against non-straight people. But that's not the point. As you said, this is a corrupted oligarchy. How can you be sure that they're my laws and not another's?"

"Bisexuals make up more of the population than homosexuals and heterosexuals combined," Jefferson said smoothly.

The King shrugged. "In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. I didn't come here to discuss percents."

"My God, you're a moron," Jefferson muttered.

"How can you say it's not important? The people are the most important part of a nation." Hamilton asked, ready to punch this guy in the face.

"Bah," George said, switching tactics since what he was trying say obviously wasn't getting across, waving them off. "I've outlawed everything that isn't right. Other religions, other sexualities, other genders, basically everything I don't agree with. Gays and bi's and every other community waving their stupid little flags around are an extreme minority that it's only natural they go to Hell and be wiped off the face of the planet. I mean, it's not like you two are gay, so it just goes to prove my point."

Jefferson smirked at George, knowing exactly what was about to happen. Hamilton sprang from his chair, hands slamming down on the table as he stepped on top of it, his feet slamming into the wood as he walked across it to where Jefferson was sitting. George looked to Jefferson in confusion. Why was this small man walking across the table? Jefferson flashed George one of his famous grins right before Hamilton's fist wrapped itself in Jefferson's clothes, pulling him up out of his seat as Hamilton crashed his lips against Jefferson's. Jefferson was very tempted to turn this into a make out session just so that King George might explode where he sat.

Evidently, he didn't have to make that decision because Hamilton made it for him. Hamilton's kiss started out frustrated and to make a point, but it turned into him letting out all his rage. His fist tightened in Jefferson's shirt, his other hand roughly holding Jefferson's head against his. Jefferson was about ready to take control of the situation, and by that he meant pulling out Hamilton's legs, laying him across the table, and climbing onto of the table with him. But Hamilton pulled away before he could, stomping back across the table and sinking back into his chair, an angry scowl still plastered across his face. Jefferson lounged in his seat, swirling his wine glass, staring the king down while he took a deep drink.

The king sputtered, his entire face was red. Jefferson couldn't decide if it was from anger or shock. Either way, it was just as satisfying. Then a second later, much to Jefferson's surprise, the king composed himself, and what Jefferson could only describe as a knowing smirk spread across his face, looking evil from his perspective. He poured out his brandy on the floor and poured himself some of Jefferson's wine in a new glass, "So, how long has this been going on?" he asked, glancing between the two and taking a drink. His entire posture was suddenly regal like he'd been born and raised royalty and hadn't schemed his way to the top.

Jefferson looked to Hamilton who was staring at the king defiantly. "A couple weeks now," he answered.

The king tutted, "It seems much more intimate for only a couple of weeks."

"We were close before we formed a relationship," Hamilton said smoothly, taking a drink.

"No, you two hated each other."

"Maybe at first, but we grew close through the war."

"No," the king said, taking another delicate sip from his glass, "I'd have to say this relationship is over two hundred years old."

**\----**


	27. Past, Present, and Future

 

Jefferson's glass slipped from his hand and fell to the floor, shattering apart, spilling wine and glass shards everywhere. He stared at the king, the words he said replaying in his mind. Had he heard that right? No, he couldn't have. He looked to Hamilton. He was looking at Jefferson with the same expression. Okay, so he had heard that right.

The king was smirking, swirling his wine around his glass, "Mr. Jefferson, I think you need a new glass."

Jefferson shook himself out of it, "Butterfingers," he explained as he poured himself a new glass. "Two hundred years? That's impossi-"

"How'd you know?" Hamilton asked, cutting him off. Well shit, this was going downhill fast. The king just took control of the room in an instant. He played them. Couldn't Hamilton see it? He was playing right into his hands. Jefferson shot a pointed look at Hamilton, but Hamilton didn't notice.

"What do you mean?" King George asked innocently.

"How'd you know about that?" Hamilton asked again.

"What?"

"The two hundred years," Hamilton almost spat.

"I was just making an observation, you guys seem to have been together for so long, it feels like two hundred years," he said, smiling into his glass.

"Hamilton, give it up. It's obvious. He has his memories. He's  _the_ King George III from the Revolution," Jefferson explain, rubbing his temple. Hamilton stared at the king for a moment, he was torn between awe and complete and utter loathing. He quickly came to a decision. "No," Jefferson said, stopping him before he got started, knowing what he was thinking. 

"What? Why?" Hamilton protested.

"You can't kill the king while he's under a truce and eating at our lunch table," Jefferson said. Hamilton huffed. Too bad he and Jefferson were raised in an age where honor was actually important. If they weren't, the war would've ended just then.

Or would it?

"Now that I've finally got your attention and you've taken out the majority of your frustrations in that kiss," the king said, taking a bite of food, "It's time you both shut up and listen. You're right, the system is corrupt, and though I may have played my part in corrupting it, it has taken quite the nasty turn and I'm not fond." The king looked between the two, trying to see if they were keeping up with him. "The group that currently hold power is a group of white factious men-"

"Much like yourself," Hamilton cut in.

The king rolled his eyes. "If you're going to act like children when I'm actually trying to get things resolved and end a bloody, useless war, it's time I took my leave." He drained his glass. "The meal was lovely." He set the glass on the table, "I thought you two could be of some help, but I see I need someone a little less biased." King George stood from the table. "Perhaps Mr. John Adams. He said he belonged only to his country, maybe he'll readily serve it again instead of standing around and bickering uselessly over things that aren't currently of any weight. Good day to you gentlemen." With that, he swept out the door.

"Jefferson, he knew. He's like us," Hamilton said, completely ignoring all the broken glass and everything else that was said.

"I meant to talk to you about that," Jefferson said, trying to pull his thoughts back from where they wandered off. "If you think about it, we're not the only ones to be back. Everyone's here. Madison, Burr, Lafayette, Laurens, Angelica, Washington, Eliza, Seabury, Mulligan, and Peggy."

"Not to mention so many others," Hamilton said, thinking about it.

"We're not the only ones, we're just the only one's to have gotten our memories back."

"Us and King George apparently. I wondered what sparked it for him," Hamilton wondered.

"Hey, speaking of repeating history, why'd you divorce Eliza this time?" Jefferson asked.

"Oh," Hamilton blushed shamefully, "She divorced me, again. I, ah, might've cheated on her with Reynolds again."

Jefferson looked pointedly at Hamilton. "This isn't something I'm going to have to worry about, is it?"

"What? No!" Hamilton objected, "I would never!"

"Mmm, I'm sure you would've said the same thing to Eliza," Jefferson hummed, walking away to grab a broom and a mop.

"Okay, I'm a terrible person, but never again. I'll never cheat on you as long as I live, I promise."

"And we all know what you say about promises," Jefferson said, smiling slightly.

"*A promise must never be broken,*" Hamilton replied.

Jefferson tossed the mop to Hamilton and began sweeping up the glass shards. "You know," Jefferson began, "despite how everything turned out, that was some kiss," Jefferson smirked, "I was about ready to lay you across the table and get mashed potatoes in your hair."

"Oh? And by how many seconds did I miss that by?" Hamilton asked.

"About half of one."

"Goddamn it," Hamilton sighed, "Can I have a rain check?"

"Nope. You missed your chance."

Hamilton sighed again, mopping up the last of the wine, "I suppose I'll just have to find another occasion to walk across a table to kiss you."

"Mmm, I guess you will," Jefferson hummed.

Jefferson threw away the glass he swept up and almost felt the change in the air before Hamilton asked, "If we don't win this war, will there even be a point to it?"

"*I abhor war and view it as the greatest scourge of mankind,* but *we did not raise armies for glory or for conquest,* we did it for another reason. *In defense of our persons and properties under actual violation, we took up arms. When that violence shall be removed, when hostilities shall cease on the part of the aggressors, hostilities shall cease on our part also.* It's not like we're fighting for land, it's not like we're bored and picking fights. Our rights are being stripped away from us and if no one does anything about it, it'll never get better. We tried to reason, but they would not hear us. Never bend from your principles, never let your rights be taken from you. If we have to fight, so be it. It doesn't matter if we win or not. We can't stop fighting for what's our, what cannot be taken away. The point is to stand for what you believe in. To stand for your rights no matter the odds," Jefferson replied, clearing the table of all the food. They could have it for dinner later when they had an appetite again. Hamilton jumped in to help.

The difference between Hamilton and Jefferson right now was that the king's words were still ringing through Hamilton's head. Did they really have all the information they needed? 

***

Hamilton was wondering how everyone else was doing. Surely they missed his company right? Surely they kept in touch with each other? 

Hamilton was itching to be doing something constructive, but unlike Jefferson, he wasn't on an optional leave of absence and Jefferson wasn't going to go back to the war without Hamilton. So instead Hamilton was listening to Jefferson talk about the stars as they lie on a grassy hill. They had taken an evening ride that stretched into a nighttime one. Seeing as it was already dark, they decided to stay out a while and enjoy nature. 

Jefferson had a thing for nature that Hamilton didn't quite understand, but he thought it was cute. He didn't really have any side interests. He just always read and wrote and fought. Jefferson seemed to be able to do everything while still managing everything else that the world had thrown at him. Hamilton couldn't explain. He got sleepless nights just from his financial plan while Jefferson could put together a declaration, plan a constitution, design a house, invent some crazy thing, and still get a couple hours of sleep. 

What Hamilton somehow didn't know after all their time together was that Jefferson hardly slept at all. On the nights Hamilton stayed up doing his work, Jefferson did too. On the night that Hamilton slept, Jefferson would go to bed only to get up after Hamilton fell asleep to work some more. But that was a long time ago, in a past life. Jefferson and Hamilton were now getting more sleep than they knew what to do with. 

When they weren't plagued with nightmares.

Those never really went away, they had just gotten so used to them. If they woke, they just helped the other through them and fell back asleep, or if it was really bad, then they'd go get some tea and sit up for a bit, but that was never as often anymore. They were actually doing okay.

That's the best they'd been in a long time.

Until King George had walked in the door and turned their world completely upside down. Now Hamilton couldn't tear his mind away from the battlefield and Jefferson couldn't think of anything except what their government would be like if they won. Would they redesign it completely? Would they base it off the old Constitution? He didn't know. He just had some ideas on how he would do it.

And so did Hamilton.

And they were nothing alike.

**\----**


	28. Friends and Enemies

 

Jefferson had just finished in his garden for the day and was poking a Hamilton who was reading on the couch. Hamilton was getting ready to do something about it, whether it was throwing something or pinning him to the floor and kissing him fiercely, he couldn't decide. Just as he was about to decide, they heard a window break. Now, most people would probably invesitage before assuming battle, but Jefferson and Hamilton were a little too used to conflict. They looked at each other and ran for where they had stashed their walking armories, Jefferson really needed to think of a name for them, which just happened to be at the top of the stairs and in their bedroom.

That meant getting through whoever who was in the house. They stuck to the shadows at best they could, taking routes no one would bother thinking of. Jefferson boosted Hamilton up to a balcony railing and Hamilton helped pulled Jefferson up. Second floor without incident, now they just needed to make it down a couple hallways and through a door. They could do it.

They took steps when a soldier walked out of a room, brandishing a rifle. He saw them and aimed. Too slow, Jefferson slid and hit the gun up toward the ceiling, the soldier fired, sending bullets into the roof.

"You motherfucker!" Jefferson yelled, "You put holes in my ceiling!" Jefferson yanked the gun away and smacked him with it before spinning and shooting another soldier who had emerged from the next room, hearing shots. Hamilton ran forward and snatched up the gun and taking the extra seconds to strip all the ammo as well. He and Jefferson moved down the hallway, checking every room they passed so a soldier wouldn't come out and shoot them in the backs. They downed several more soldiers before they finally made it to their room and pulled on their armor. Jefferson had redyed them to the darkest black on the face of the earth.

"Are we still under the blades only rule since that guard just put bullets in your ceiling?" Hamilton asked.

"Fuck it," Jefferson said, "It's time to remodel anyway,"  Jefferson grabbed his cane, slipping it into a custom pocket of his coat.

Hamilton grinned and picked up his favorite rifle from the closet, strapping various other weapons to his back. He was ready to slaughter whoever interrupted his thoughts of pinning Jefferson to the floor and stripping him of all his clothes in the most painfully slow way he could so Jefferson would pay for bothering him while he was reading. He looked over at Jefferson to see what he had grabbed.

"Only two pistols?" Hamilton asked.

Jefferson grinned wickedly, racking and holding up the twin silver guns, the light glinting off the metal. He placed them in the drop down rig that attached them to his thighs. "Darling, you forget, I specialized these suits to our own tastes," He said, throwing open his long coat so Hamilton could see the set up he had. He still only had two pistols, but he had customized and magazine reloading system to where he could reload less than a second flat, no mechanisms that would jam, just proper placement and skill.

"Holy mother of Jesus Christ," Hamilton breathed as drew his two pistols, twirled them in his hands, readying his reflexes for the fight that was about to come. "I could take you right here, right now," Hamilton said.

Jefferson smirked his famous smirk and batted his eyelashes, resting one of his pistols against his shoulder and the other one against his hip, knowing full well what that cocky position would do to Hamilton. "Just don't picture slowly peeling off every single one of these layers, hunting for every weapon tucked away and pulling them out with your teeth," Jefferson purred.

"Fuck," Hamilton swore.

"Not now, darling, we've got a battle to win."

Hamilton stalked over to him, slinging his own weapon over his shoulder, grabbed him by the lapels, and hissed, "I'll be damned if I walk into battle without even so much as a-" Jefferson cut him off by roughly grabbing Hamilton by the waist and pulling him against him, Jefferson's other hand entangling itself in Hamilton's hair as Jefferson's kissed him fiercely.

The door opened and a soldier walked in, gun directly at them, a shot rang out and the soldier fell to the floor, Jefferson reholstering his gun. He had just drawn, aimed, and shot a guy without so much as breaking the kiss or opening his eyes. Hamilton kissed him harder, God, he loved this man.

They finally broke away, Jefferson already holding a pistol in each hand, Hamilton pressed his rifle to his shoulder. He knew he was a deadly shot, but he had no idea how good Jefferson was. If the soldier on the floor was any clue, he was good. But how good?

"Ready?" Jefferson asked, positioned to open the door.

"Ready," Hamilton answered.

"Let's go kill some sons of bitches and raise a little hell." Jefferson swung the door open and stepped out, clearing one direction of the hallway while Hamilton covered the other.

"Clear," they both said.

"You know," Jefferson said over his shoulder to Hamilton, "I've already got three on you."

"Fuck you,"

"I already told you, later."

Hamilton had half a mind to shoot him.

They cleared upper-level rooms one by one, hardly running into anyone at all. It'd be downstairs that was fun. Jefferson stopped at the balcony again, spotting several soldiers below, obviously getting ready to split up into teams to clear the upstairs. Now if Jefferson were smart, he'd wait until they split so he and Hamilton could hunt them down one group at a time.

But that was no fun.

"I swear, if you jump from the balcony again," Hamilton warned.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jefferson said, "Never repeat stunts."

"Okay good, wait what-" Too late, Jefferson stepped onto the railing, balancing perfectly. You know what, fuck this. Hamilton was not going to be outdone again. He stepped onto the railing too, Jefferson glanced at him.

"Now you're getting it, darling."

"Fuck off." 

"You know what? We could make this way interesting," Jefferson said.

"How's that?"

"You up for a little haunting?"

Hamilton smirked. 

Hamilton took extra time setting up the house for what they were about to do, but that meant that the other soldiers had split up and were hunting for them, little did they know, they were the ones being hunted. They started off by hiding the bodies they had already dropped, leaving the blood stains as they were for the other soldier to find. Next, they darkened the house, one by shutting all the windows and curtains and two, by buying time as the sun set, sending soldiers chasing random noises.

As soon as the house was close to pitch black, Jefferson and Hamilton went to the one room in the house that sent echoes everywhere else. This was when Hamilton and Jefferson were thankful for their oddly good night vision, maybe they could see super well at night because they couldn't see that well during the day. More likely, it was from spending so much time in a dark jail cell that seemed more like a dungeon.

Jefferson started the soldier's long night off with a ghostly moan that echoed through the house. Hamilton followed up with another one.

"Someone trespasses..." Hamilton said like he was waking up from a couple century nap.

"Someone's footsteps disturb my sleep," Jefferson said next.

"Who walks my halls?" Hamilton's voice echoed.

"Who dares disturb my resting place?" Jefferson asked.

"Who dares disturb the house of the Founding Fathers?" Hamilton said.

"Who dares disturb the sleep of Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton?" Jefferson asked.

"Someone dares tread these halls," Hamilton questioned

"Someone who hunts patriots," Jefferson said, voice steadily getting angrier.

"Someone who hunts my blood," Hamilton said, voice haunting.

"Who dares enter my library?" Jefferson's voice verged on vengeful.

"Who dares enter my bedroom?" Hamilton asked.

"WHO PUT BULLETS IN MY CEILING?" Jefferson roared, Hamilton stifled a laugh.

"We shall spill the blood of these trespassers for coming here."

"Let it be known to never disturb the resting place of the Founding Fathers."

"This house is to never be touched again."

All at once, all the doors in the entire house slammed shut at once and locked as Jefferson yanked on a string he had intricately set up.

Someone screamed. Jefferson and Hamilton pulled their knives free and let the hunting begin.

***

Jefferson and Hamilton sat silently at the dining room table, in the dark, drinking tea just after they finished. They were bone tired. There had been so many of them, so many soldiers. It seemed like they just respawned. They hadn't bothered picking up the bodies yet, they'd do that in a moment, after they had their tea.

Their ears pricked at the sound of the front door creaking open, followed by whispers that traveled down the now too silent house. Jefferson and Hamilton didn't move. They couldn't understand what the whispers were saying, but they slowly approached. Flashlight beams could be seen underneath the door, waving back and forth as the new intruders went room to room. Jefferson and Hamilton went on drinking their tea.

Footsteps outside the door, a couple more whispered words, the door flung open. Jefferson's drew his gun in a flash, no one even saw him move before the gun was aimed, and Hamilton was even watching for it. Shit, Jefferson was fast. The flashlight swept over Jefferson's and Hamilton's face, making them wince from the brightness.

"Holy shit! Don't shoot!" a person yelled, several other flashlight beams joined the first one, blinding the two even more. Jefferson tossed his gun on the table with a sigh and went back to drinking his tea. Hamilton didn't even look up, as soon as he found out he couldn't see Jefferson move when he drew his gun, he went back to his own cup tea.

"Oh my God, you're alive!" another person yelled. Jefferson and Hamilton had those voices memorized. The first was Aaron Burr and the second was John Laurens. Hamilton took another drink of tea.

"It's like a bloodbath in here," Mulligan said, "did you guys do this?"

Still no response. "Holy fuck, there has to be at least seventy people," Lafayette said, looking around at the bodies that were in the dining room.

"Nope," Madison, walking into the room, "There's ninety in all, I counted."

"Only you would count," Laurens commented. "But seriously, what happened in here? Why is it so dark? Why you two just sitting there having tea? I mean, what the fuck?"

Hamilton finally looked over at them, "Shut off your goddamn lights, you're blinding us."

"And trip on this mess?" Burr asked, "No way."

Hamilton rolled his eyes as Jefferson reached over and lit some candles. "There," he said, "now fucking turn them off."

All the lights clicked off as the others took seats at the table. Jefferson got up to make more tea for everyone and returned with three pots and several cups.

"Why are you guys here?" Hamilton asked.

"You first," Mulligan said, "I want to hear this horror story."

"Chronological order. You first," Hamilton said.

"Fuck, fine," Laurens said. "Lafayette had just convinced Washington to call you back into the action when a report rolled into about a sizable group of enemy soldiers moving on Monticello. Of course, we knew that you two were here from when you cleaned it out a couple months ago and then dropped off the map. We thought there'd be no chance two people could hold off so many well-equipped soldiers, so we were sent to help out. Evidently, we were wrong. Cause, holy shit."

Hamilton and Jefferson exchanged glances, they were good. Damn good. "Okay, now your story," Lafayette pushed.

"Okay. Fine. So, I'm sitting in the library reading and Jefferson's getting ready to build a fire when we heard a window shatter," Hamilton said, twisting the story a bit. Everyone there certainly did not need to know how Hamilton was about to do many unspeakable things to Jefferson. "We snuck our way upstairs to get equipped, ran into a couple of guards, but they were easy. Made it to the weapon stash and got our awesome body armor on-"

"Body armor? What body armor?" Laurens asked.

"Oh, this," Hamilton gestured to himself, "Jefferson custom designed them for the rally forever ago. They're decked out with weapons and reinforced with bulletproof vests and Kevlar, which is bullet resistant."

"Bitchin," Mulligan said, "Where do we get some?"

"I'll see what I can do," Jefferson laughed. "I'll need all your measurements and your favorite weapons plus fight styles. You know, they'd be even better if a real tailor helped me," Jefferson said, looking at Mulligan. He nodded that he's help.

"Deal," Lafayette said.

"Anyway, all decked out in weapons and armor and stuff," Hamilton said, skipping the part where things got a little heated between him and Jefferson, "Jefferson's got these wicked pistols, the ones that almost shot your head off Burr, and we're ready to charge out and kill everyone who dared step foot inside. Well, after clearing the top floor, we decided to have a little fun."

"Fun?" Burr asked.

"We became the ghosts of the founding fathers that lived here over two hundred years ago. Made the house pitch black-"

"Fuck, like it was when walked in? How'd you see?" Madison asked.

Jefferson shrugged, "Magic."

"Anyway," Hamilton continued, "We rigged up a whole bunch of traps and spooky things that would throw all the soldiers off their game and then killed them off one by one. Leaving bloody bodies for others to find. Letting a flashlight glimpse a movement or the shape of a person in the corner that wasn't there a second later. We made things creaks and random things move. I dropped a plate at someone's feet at one point. Made chandeliers swing, doors slammed shut. basically, we turned it into a haunted murder house that they couldn't escape."

"My God," Burr whispered.

Jefferson and Hamilton took another drink of tea.

"So what have you been doing all this you've been gone?" Lafayette asked.

Hamilton almost spit out his tea. Jefferson. He'd been doing Jefferson. "Well, on our way to the coast to steal an aircraft carrier, we stopped by here to learn a little history. We just wanted a quick tour but turns out, it had been turned into a Govey base. So we took and have just been holding down the fort every since. It's got an awesome library. So, reading mostly," Jefferson answered, covering for Hamilton smoothly.

Well, it was mostly true. A couple bends here and there.

"You two fight about everything, how'd you manage to live together for so long?" Burr asked.

"We didn't talk much, kept to sleeping and reading mostly. I found an old violin, so I played that a bit," Jefferson replied easily. Hamilton and Jefferson felt a little guilty about lying to their friends, but it was best this way, at least until they could figure out what was the deal with the memories.

"Well, Washington wants both of you back, so we should head out," Madison said around a fit of coughing.

"One, it's midnight," Jefferson said, "Two, I'm tired, I want a bath and some sleep. Three, you're sick. Four, there's a shit ton of guest rooms. We're staying another night, then we can head out in the morning."

"I'm fine," Madison protested.

"Fine, but that leaves me with three other reasons. I'll show you all to your rooms after you help Hamilton and I deal with all these bodies.

After burying lots of bodies, the sun was halfway through the sky. Noon at least. They all walked inside and collapsed on different pieces of furniture. Hamilton was the first to get up and start working on drawing baths. There were enough bathrooms for everyone too. Hamilton was kinda glad Jefferson and designed it with an outrageously large amount of guest rooms and baths. But it took forever to heat and fill each one, even with everyone helping. Jefferson washed his and Hamilton suits again while he was at it.

They all decided staying an extra day wouldn't hurt. Hamilton walked into a guest room and flopped down onto the bed. Jefferson led everyone else to the other guest rooms. As soon as he was sure everyone else wasn't going to come back out, he dropped by Hamilton's temporary room to say goodnight and went off to his room. He laid down and stared at the empty spot beside him. Well, he could bet money on the likelihood that he dreamed about Hamilton dying or some shit and him waking to think it actually happened.

Just as Jefferson was about to fade off to sleep, he sensed Hamilton climb in next to him. Jefferson immediately moved, allowing Hamilton to have enough room to get comfortable before pulling him close against his chest, breathing in his scent, and falling into the clutches of sleep.

**\----**

 


	29. Ghostly Love

 

Hamiton miraculously woke up before everyone in the house and snuck back to his own room after telling Jefferson where he was going so he didn't wake up and think Hamilton disappeared. It was a problem they both shared.

Laurens burst into his room an hour later yelling that it was time to get up. Jefferson made breakfast for everyone, something the rest of the squad was ecstatic about since they'd been living on army food. Hamilton bet that Jefferson was going to pack up as many food items as he could and take over the kitchens back at HQ so he didn't have to eat any more oatmeal mush.

They rolled into camp several hours later. Hamilton hooked up a horse trailer and brought the horses with them knowing Jefferson would never leave Monticello without them. Washington was waiting for them when they pulled in, once everyone was finished saying their hellos, Washington pulled Hamilton aside, Hamilton followed Washington far out of the rebel camp without so much as a backward glance at Jefferson. Jefferson stared after them, watching them go, plastering a smile on his face when someone clapped him on the shoulder and started talking happily.

When Washington deemed that they walked far enough, he turned to Hamilton, laid a hand on his shoulder and took a deep breath, "I was younger than you are now," he began, "when I was given my first command. I led my men in straight into a massacre. I witnessed their deaths first hand."

"Sir-"

"I made every mistake. I felt the shame rise in me and even now I lie awake knowing history has its eyes on me."

"Sir-"

"Let me tell you what I wished I'd known when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story."

"Sir-"

"I know that we can win. I know that greatness lies in you, but remember from here on in, history has its eyes on you."

"Sir," Hamilton finally broke into laughter, Washington stared at him, "I know, sir, you've told me all this before. Plus, it's not my first command, you know that. I've been leading my entire state since the last war."

Washington looked at him closely, that piercing stare drilling into Hamilton's soul. "When did I tell you that before?" he asked. Hamilton opened his mouth, paused, and then shut it again. Washington's stare was unwavering, Hamilton shifted uncomfortably. The answer was 1781, but he couldn't tell Washington that, he'd think Hamilton was crazy and take away his command. "I asked you a question, Alex."

"Umm, I can't remember exactly..."

"How long ago did I tell you that?" Washington asked carefully.

Hamilton's head snapped up and met Washington's gaze. "Sir, do you remember that time when you told me to never leave my candles burning overnight, but I fell asleep at my desk and the candles were still burning and they burned over half of the correspondence on my desk?"

"And you had to rewrite everything within the hour? Yes, I do. That was the first war you and I ever fought in."

"You wouldn't let me live it down."

"If I recall correctly, it was Lafayette that was laughing at you," Washington said.

"This isn't the same war though, sir, it's a completely different enemy, a completely different situation."

"There are more parallels than you might think," Washington said, "It's all just worded slightly different." Hamilton nodded. "Well, if you know everything I'm going to say, report to General Lafayette for further instructions."

"Lafayette is a general now?" Hamilton exclaimed.

Washington chuckled, "Yes, as so is everyone else in your favorite squad.  Burr will be reassigned to his birth state now that you're back and I'll have to think of somewhere for Madison to be transferred to."

"Leave him with Jefferson, they work well together."

Washington nodded and dismissed Hamilton who raced back to camp to congratulate all his friends. Burr was commanding the New Jersey regiment, Mulligan was assigned to Maine even though he's from New York, Jefferson had Virginia obviously, Hamilton still had New York, Madison ended getting reassigned to West Virginia, Lafayette was in charge of all the volunteer forces from the western states and any other random places people showed up from, and Laurens had South Carolina.

Laurens.

Hamilton's heart sank. It was like seeing a ghost. He never realized it before because he didn't have his memories when they first met, but Laurens was alive and if history was to repeat itself again, he was to die in South Carolina after the Battle of Yorktown or whatever the last major battle of this war would be. Hamilton stood just outside his circle of friends, watching Laurens as he laughed, the way the sun looked upon his skin. The way the wind moved his curly hair ever so slightly. And his freckles, those freckles had melted Hamilton's heart. Laurens and he used to be so close, lovers. Hamilton remembered. Why did he have to remember all that now? Why couldn't he just remember to save him and not how much Hamilton loved him.

Jefferson was watching Hamilton, not that Hamilton realized. His focus was centered on Laurens. Hamilton didn't talk often about Laurens back in their past life, but he said enough for Jefferson to piece together what they had been to each other. How close they had been. Hamilton hadn't remembered Laurens when they first met, but now he was probably running through all his old memories of him, all the time they spent together, the nights they laid entangled together-stop. Jefferson, stop. This isn't fair to Hamilton. 

Hamilton loved Laurens, probably still does. But what did that mean for Hamilton and Jefferson? 

Jefferson could tell by the way Hamilton was looking at Laurens that he was memorizing everything about him, every tiny detail. Jefferson's blood turned to ice in his veins. 

Someone was talking to him, Madison, Jefferson tried his best to focus on what Madison was saying to him but it was all just going right over his head. He couldn't stop thinking. Laurens was alive, Hamilton could save him.

But what did that mean for Jefferson?

**\----**


	30. No One Knows Who Knows

 

"Washington has his memories," Hamilton told Jefferson now that he had finally gotten to talk to him alone. They were standing in Jefferson's tent, papers were already scattered everywhere, war plans and formations stacked into different piles.

"What?" Jefferson asked, shocked, "All this time?"

"I don't know. He might've had them before this all started, he might've gotten them after we left. There's no way of telling," Hamilton said.

"How many of the others do you think remember?"

"I don't know, but I can't look at Burr the same anymore," Hamilton said, clenching his fists.

Shivers traveled down Jefferson's spine and he felt a stab of pain in his chest where Burr had shot him. He rubbed it absentmindedly. "*An injured friend is the bitterest of foes,*" Jefferson replied. "But it's not fair for you to treat him so harshly for something he hasn't done. He's not the same person without those memories."

"I know I know, but his face is the same, the mannerisms, everything about him is the same. I just can't let it go."

"You know, I'm the one who got shot."

"And I'm the one who held you in my arms as you died in my place."

That shut Jefferson up. "It wasn't your fault," Jefferson murmured quietly after a moment, joining Hamilton where he sat on Jefferson's cot.

"Yeah, it is," Hamilton said, looking at his hands folded in his lap in shame.

"No," Jefferson said, taking one of Hamilton's hands in his, "it isn't."

"If I hadn't dissed Burr so much, ruining his career over and over again. If I had just answered his question, if I had just apologized-"

"Alexander, that's something I admire so much about you, you stand up for what you believe in no matter what. Even if it's the stupidest shit I've ever heard. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine," Jefferson said. "I'm the one that decided to go after you. I'm the one that stepped into the line of fire. I'm the one who decided that. Not you, not Burr. Everything that happened between you two would've been smoothed over if everyone had lived. You have to give him the chance he deserves."

Hamilton sighed. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You called me an asshole a whole bunch of times and then passed out in my office."

Hamilton chuckled. "If I had known it was easy as that, I would've done it sooner."

"Are you saying that I'm easy to get?" Jefferson said, placing a hand on his chest in mock surprise. "This package deal easy to get? I don't think my ego can take it."

"Your ego needs a reality check."

"Ouch."

Jefferson's goal was achieved when Hamilton finally smiled. Jefferson grinned and poked Hamilton in the ribs. He immediately jerked away, smacking at Jefferson's hand. "Don't tell me you've been ticklish all this time! All the opportunities I've missed!" Jefferson cried out dramatically.

"Fuck off," Hamilton glared.

"This is my tent," Jefferson gestured around. "But I suppose I could go crash in your tent for the night."

"Imagine Washington's face if he went in there looking for me and found you," Hamilton laughed.

"Imagine the look on his face if he found both of us smushed together on a single person cot."

"My God. That's an image I didn't need, thanks for that."

"Anytime, darlin."

"Seriously, we need to figure out who has memories and who doesn't," Hamilton said, getting the conversation back on track.

"What do you want to do, stick random references to the past in daily conversation?" Jefferson asked.

"That's exactly what I want to do."

"I don't think it'll be that simple. Neither of us has had our memories back be we still had instances of thinking we'd done something. Like when we were in the cave and I was convinced I had stitched up your head before. It's because I had. And you remembered random things I said. There's no telling what little things they remember without really having their memories."

"Yes, but if you bring it up and they do remember, they get suspicious and start asking their own questions to test if you remember. Like when I was talking to Washington. I said something offhandedly and he realized I must remember something and we ended kinda testing each other."

"That might work..."

"Let's do it. I'll test Laurens and Mulligan first since I knew them. You can get Madison and Burr. I can't bring myself to talk to Burr yet," Hamilton said.

"You're going to have to eventually."

"I know."

"Okay, so that leaves Lafayette. We'll ask him last, we both knew him pretty well," Jefferson said.

"Got it. Alright, let's do some investigating," Hamilton said, jumping to his feet and darting out of the tent.

"I swear, he is nothing but a little ball of energy," Jefferson laughed to himself as he followed Hamilton out to search for Madison.

He found him a few minutes later, sitting on a log and eating the terrible oatmeal that was always served. "Hey James," Jefferson greeted, sitting down next to him.

"Oh hey, Thomas, what're you doing here?" Madison asked.

"Oh nothing," Jefferson shrugged, "Just wanted to apologize for that one time when I ditched you when you were talking to me after Hamilton and I had a fight."

"You and Hamilton had a fight? Like a real fight with fists and not one of your bickering matches?" Madison asked.

"If you to ask Hamilton, it was more of a battle," Jefferson referring to the first cabinet battle they had, "But there were no fists. You were there, remember?"

Madison thought for a moment, "Maybe, not really. I remember you and Hamilton fought a lot, but seem to tolerate each other now."

It took all of Jefferson's self-control not to snort. "Ah, well, it's not important. Enjoy your mush," Jefferson said, standing and walking away.

Hamilton found Laurens instantly, it was just like he always knew where'd he be. "Hey John," Hamilton greeted. 

"Oh hey, Alex. What're you doing over here? Aren't you supposed to be getting debriefed by Lafayette?"

"What? Oh shit! I totally forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me. I don't know what I would've done if I hadn't known you all my life," Hamilton said smoothly. Laurens looked at him strangely.

"Alex, we've known each other for like a year."

"Oh, yeah, right. I guess we get along so well it feels like I've known you forever," Hamilton said quickly, trying to cover up the weird way he said things. Laurens obviously didn't remember.

"I feel like that too," Laurens said, a bit of blush creeping to his cheeks, Hamilton didn't notice. 

"Well, I better go see Lafayette about the debriefing," Hamilton as a way of saying bye before he strode off, Laurens watching him go.

Jefferson found Burr getting a drink. Why was Burr always getting a drink of some kind? "Hey Burr," Jefferson said, taking a seat next to him.

"Jefferson? What're you doing here?" Burr asked.

"Getting a drink, saying hi to a friend."

"You rarely drink," Burr commented.

"How'd you know that?" Jefferson asked.

"From that party we had after we stole the tank, you hardly touched any alcohol, you only had a couple glasses of wine."

"Wow, I didn't think anyone would notice," Jefferson said. Burr took another drink. His posture was closed, he seemed like he very much wanted to be alone. Jefferson would get this over with quickly so Burr could be left in peace. Just as Jefferson was about to say something, Burr broke the silence.

"How do you think it feels to get shot?"

"Depends, in the stomach, it's like someone used a blender on your gut and then stuffed a couple red hot coals in. In the chest, it's a bit different, at first it's mostly shock, and then you feel like someone stabbed you, twisted the knife around, took a hammer and smashed your ribs, and then shoved in a lego. But then you stop feeling anything and you get all warm. Then you can't feel anything all and then your vision goes."

"Shit." Burr took a long drink, "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Fuck, Jefferson may have put a little too much detail to that. "Well, I did get shot in the stomach when I got kidnapped. That wasn't fun."

"And what about the chest?" Burr asked. Jefferson looked off into the distance, remembering that day with perfect clarity. Burr was watching him intently from the corner of his eye. Jefferson looked down into his glass.

"You remember. Don't you?" Jefferson asked softly, taking a drink of whatever it was the bartender handed him.

"Dear God, Jefferson, I'm so sorry," Burr said, staring at his own drink, not even being able to lift his head to look a Jefferson. The man he murdered. President of the United States. Jefferson remained silent. "Jefferson," Burr continued. "I never intended- I never meant to-none of that was supposed to happen. You have to believe me." Burr finally looked at Jefferson, but Jefferson just kept looking straight ahead, refusing to look at him. "If I had known that Hamilton wasn't going to shoot, if I had known that you were going to step in front of him, I'd have-I'd have....My God." he trailed off. "I can't believe you remember dying. What that must be like...dying so gruesomely...I'm so so sorry Jefferson. Please, if Hamilton remembers, tell him that-"

"Hamilton can't know," Jefferson said, "Hamilton can never know that you remember or he'll kill you." Burr remained silent. "This stays between us. I don't care that you shot me. I don't care how bad you feel. I don't care how sorry you are. And I don't care if the memory of it keeps me up night after night. Hamilton can't know, so you're going to keep pretending just like you have been. You don't remember a single thing from our past lives. Got it?"

Burr nodded. Jefferson took another long drink, paid, and walked away.

Hamilton was waiting for Jefferson where they agreed. He had dropped by Mulligan's but the result was the same, no memory what so ever. Hamilton finally saw Jefferson approaching, he look troubled, but the look disappeared in an instant as soon as he lifted his head and grinned at Hamilton, Hamilton couldn't help but grin back. "Any luck?" he asked.

"Nope, nothing at all. You?" 

Hamilton shook his head. "Well, that leaves Lafayette. He's supposed to debrief on the upcoming mission. It's probably going to be this war's version of Yorktown."

"Well, let's see if he remembers anything and then end this war then," Jefferson said, pulling open the tent entrance for Hamilton as they walked inside.

Lafayette looked up from where he was sitting at his desk. "Bonjour!" he said gleefully, "It's been forever since I've seen you two!"

"Lafayette! How'd the leg heal up?" Jefferson asked, remembering that Lafayette had gotten shot during their last mission together.

"Perfectly well. Washington refused to let me in any of the action until I was completely healed even though I could fight perfectly fine."

Jefferson chuckled, "I'm sure you could."

" Look at you!" Hamilton said, "The desk look doesn't suit you."

"I know! I'd much rather be with my soldiers than behind this thing," Lafayette complained, resting his head on his hand.

"Well, I'm sure things will pick up," Hamilton said.

"Hey Lafayette, remember when I helped you write that declaration in France after the American Revolution?" Jefferson asked, skipping straight to the point and throwing all the other nonsense out the window. Hamilton shot him a look, telling him that was way too obvious, but he didn't care. His nerves were shot and he was exhausted. That conversation with Burr took everything out of him and he just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible so he could curl up with Hamilton and go to sleep.

"What are you talking about?" Lafayette asked, a look of confusion on his face.

"Oh nothing I Jefferson is just tired is-" Hamilton was but off.

"You know, right before the French Revolution which I may have accidentally helped you start. Vive la Révolution _(Long live the Revolution)."_

Lafayette's eyes glazed over as he looked into the distance. "Great, you broke him," Hamilton said.

"Give him a moment."

"Vive la Révolution," Lafayette muttered quietly. He jumped from his chair,  "Vive la Révolution!" he shouted.

"Yep, you broke him," Hamilton said.

Lafayette looked to Jefferson and Hamilton, suddenly unsure and a bit freaked out. "The  Révolution was centuries ago, why do I remember it now? Why do I remember my past life? What is this? What's going on?" Before anyone could respond, he locked eyes with Jefferson, tears sprung from his eyes, "Jefferson! You're alive!" He jumped over the desk and pulled Jefferson into a bone-crushing hug.

"Can't-Breathe-" Jefferson gasped.

"You died! I remember! Hamilton wrote me and we grieved together, I couldn't come for your funeral because I wasn't able to leave France, just like Napoleon wouldn't allow me to attend Washington's." Lafayette shuddered, remembering horrid memories of being thrown in an Austrian jail and practically left to die. "But you're alive! I thought I'd never see you again!" Finally, he released Jefferson and grabbed Hamilton next, "And you! You died too in the war! The war of 1812! You left me too! And now you're alive again!"

"Laf-please-let me-go," Hamilton struggled to breathe.

Lafayette dropped him. "But this was all centuries ago. I live another life now and suddenly you came and threw these memories at me like a cannonball. What's going on?"

Hamilton and Jefferson gave him the basic run down, basically saying that they knew nothing except they were alive and no one else remembered their past lives except the three of them, Washington and King George. "How long have you two remembered?" Lafayette asked.

"We remembered as soon as we hit Monticello," Jefferson said, "It seems to me like a strong memory can bring it all back. For me and Hamilton, it was an old home. For you, it was your days participating in the French Revolution."

Lafayette rose his eyebrows, "An old home, huh?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face. "I didn't know you two shared a home."

Hamilton coughed. "I left Monticello to Hamilton after I died," Jefferson explained, "So Hamilton lived there for a while."

"Oh? I had no idea you two were even on speaking terms. Last I heard you two were bickering over America's stance on France's war with England." Jefferson scratched his head and Hamilton suddenly seemed very interested in the pen on Lafayette's desk. Lafayette's grin grew wider, "Just what were you two doing for all those months at Monticello?" Lafayette wondered aloud, "All alone, just the two of you. How could you possibly pass the time?"

Hamilton coughed again, "Jefferson planted a garden," he said.

"I'm not stupid, I'm French, and this," Lafayette gestured to the two of them, "is the cutest thing and Frenchiest thing I can think of."

"Okay, it might have been considered a French thing two hundred and thirty plus years ago, but now it's mostly normal. Just currently super illegal," Jefferson said.

"Aha! He admits it!" Lafayette said in triumph. "So is this recent, or have you two been keeping this from me for over two hundred and thirty plus years as you so gracefully put it?" Hamilton and Jefferson looked at each other, praying this would end soon. Lafayette squealed, "You've been together for centuries! And you never told me!? Oh, the betrayal!" Lafayette cried dramatically.

"Keep it down," Hamilton hissed, "We don't want everyone to know!"

"Of course, of course, your secret is safe with me," Lafayette swore. For some reason, neither of them were convinced. "But you should tell everyone anyway."

"After the war is over and everything settles down. We're already hunted for being the leaders of a rebellion. We don't need that on the list too," Hamilton said.

"Hamilton, I think you forgot, King George already knows after your display, so it won't be long before the world knows unless he tries to use it as leverage," Jefferson said.

"Wait," Lafayette stopped the conversation, "You're telling me that King George knew before me?! What the fuck?"

It took Hamilton and Jefferson ages to get Lafayette calmed down enough before he would actually start the debriefing, and after that, he wouldn't let the two leave for the longest time. He wanted to catch up all the way from when he last heard from Hamilton and Jefferson during the 1700's to when Jefferson died and then from there to Hamilton's death and then he told them about everything that happened to him until he finally passed in his old age. It wasn't the happiest of stories, but Lafayette was content. Then from there, they talked about what each of them did in their new lives. They ended up talking late into the night, eventually, tea made an appearance and was passed around. It was like a reunion between three of the oldest and closest friends.

"I'm so happy you two don't hate each other now. Do you know how hard it was dealing with you two? You'd both write me letters complaining about the other," Lafayette laughed.

Finally, Jefferson and Hamilton said their goodnights and headed for their own tents. This would be the first night they spent apart since Monticello. Neither of them slept well.

**\----**


	31. The Dust of New Foundations

 

Jefferson couldn't sleep. He tried with every bit of willpower he had but he just couldn't do it. He sat up and rubbed his face and looked around at the darkness of his tent. He could see everything in there thanks to his unnaturally good night vision. It was like the universe knew he was to spend all his nights wandering around.

He got up and stepped outside. The moon was bright and the stars were beautiful. Jefferson sighed. His soul felt so heavy. The images of him dying flashed through his mind again.

He'd been doing so much better too. He hadn't slipped time periods ever since he left Monticello and was starting to feel good about himself, but he could feel it lingering right on the edge, ready to pounce as soon as he let his guard down. He had to constantly run through the timeline of his life to keep it straight. Relive every moment that tore him apart inside constantly. His parents' deaths, all his children's deaths, his wife's death, the war, his death. Then all over again, his parents' deaths, his wife's death, his only child's death, the war, prison, all the blood on his hands. If history was repeating itself, did that mean he was going to die again? Was he going to throw away his life for Hamilton's again? Could he do that knowing exactly what it felt like?

Yes. Yes, he could. He'd do every day if he had to. Hamilton was his life.

But did Hamilton need Jefferson just as much? He had Laurens again.

Jefferson shook his head, don't think of these things, he already had enough on his mind. He walked down the path that led through camp. He could hear people breathing all around him sleeping peacefully. And coughing.

Coughing? That could only be one person, but what was he doing up in the middle of the night? Jefferson followed the sound of what anyone else would think was someone dying. Finally, he rounded a corner and came across who'd he'd been looking for. He was hunched over a table, scribbling something down by the light of a lantern.

"James, what're you doing up this late?" Jefferson asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied.

"Couldn't sleep?" Jefferson guessed.

"That's usually how it goes."

Jefferson walked over to him to see what he was working on. "What's this?" Jefferson asked.

Madison picked it up and handed it to him to read. "It's a rough outline of a possible government for after the wars over. We're going to need some sort of ruling body or this'll turn into the French Revolution in the blink of an eye."

"Don't let Lafayette hear you say that," Jefferson said offhandedly, scanning the pages Madison handed him.

"Why not?"

"Just don't, trust me." Jefferson handed Madison back the pages. "There are some good ideas for sure, but there's a lot of holes and easily corruptible positions where it could easily fall into tyranny and come around full circle again."

Madison looked at his work, "You got all that from a glance?"

Jefferson shrugged, "I read a lot on the subject and spend lots of free time designing my own various versions."

"Where have you been all my life to discuss these things with?" Madison asked.

Jefferson smiled, thinking back to his last life when Madison and he had been inseparable friends. "Around," Jefferson replied.

"What would you suggest then?" Madison asked, turning back to his papers.

Jefferson sat down beside him and grabbed his own pen and began marking on Madison's work, "Here, you have the original one president and vice president, but if we raise this into two presidents, much like the Roman Republic that had two consuls and add two more branches to the original three and overlap them like so with checks and balances against the other, giving power to the people, it's much less likely to be corrupted within the century," Jefferson said, writing the details on the paper with arrows, circles, and diagrams further explaining what he was saying.

"You want to split everything into two halves?" Madison asked, studying the drawing. "Sure, harder to corrupt, but the response times to disasters and emergencies would slow tremendously."

Jefferson smiled. James always did think along the same lines as Jefferson. Unlike Hamilton, who disagreed with his every other word. This new outline wasn't the same as the original Constitution, Jefferson changed it to fit the times. People today couldn't get by with such an outdated form of government, he knew that. Jefferson shrugged, "If Congress didn't waste so much time bickering about the small things, that wouldn't be a problem."

"And if the two presidents can't agree on anything? Nothing would get done."

"It's a rough draft. Besides, if you got polar opposites into office, a perfect balance would be the outcome. It's just an outline. I think I'm going to wander back to bed," Jefferson told Madison, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Madison mumbled, still lost in Jefferson's diagrams. Jefferson chuckled as he walked away.

***

Over the next few days, all the army did was prepare for the upcoming battle. The Governmental armies were vulnerable, a chance that didn't arise often for the rebels, they had to exploit it while they still could. They were going to trap them while they were going through a canyon. The rebels would have the high ground and just rain bullets down upon them. With nowhere to flee, the Governmental would have no choice but to surrender.

But until the day came for battle, Jefferson wandered around camp, looking for anything he could do. He and Hamilton have been working hard with their troops, drilling them and making sure they could follow commands. During their absence, they really all shaped up so now they were all exceptional soldiers. If this went well, most of them would get to go home and live again in a free country.

Real freedom. Not this fake knockoff where everything had a price tag.

Jefferson looked forward to the day when he could kick back on his front porch and not have to worry about a thing. The country would be running smoothly again, the people would be most happy, Hamilton would be with him and they could live the life they never got the chance to have.

That was all Jefferson wanted.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen for a long long while. Not until after he helped the new government get formed and the economy reestablished. There was so much work to do. But right now, they had. War to win.

Washington finally called all the Generals into his tent to give a detailed outline of the upcoming battle and the part each one of them had to play.

The war was almost over.

**\----**

 


	32. The World Turned Upside Down

 

The plan was actually relatively simple. They just had to sneak in overnight and get in position without the enemy ever finding out, which meant they couldn't bring the tank. Mulligan was rather upset about that. If they did this right, it'd be an easy victory with an extremely small count of casualties. Then, hopefully, the war would be over. Jefferson was so ready for it to be over.

Someone clapped him on the shoulder and came up beside him. "It's good to see you in the fight this time, Jefferson," Washington said, looking out over the troops.

"I've always been part of the fight, sir, just not the part that everyone deems most important," Jefferson replied.

"Of course, of course. Your work in France and Virginia was vital to winning the war and paved the road to the making of the Constitution, I thank you for your efforts," Washington said. Jefferson nodded in response. "Are you ready for the battle, Jefferson?"

"I hate war. I tire of it. But I'll always be ready to fight for what I believe in."

Washington nodded before walking away to find Hamilton.

***

Hamilton and his regiment crept over the hill in the black of night. They had to go extra slow so as to not make any extra noise. He was fine, he could see a stick or a loose rock and avoid it easily, his soldiers, however, couldn't see as well and tripped and muttered curses constantly.

By the time Hamilton got into position, everyone else already was, except Jefferson. His was the farthest position, he had to travel farther. He was basically the cork in the bottle, keep the Governmental army from slipping out before they could do any real damage. Once the signal came that told Hamilton Jefferson was finally in position, he looked toward the sky. Now they just had to wait for the sun and enemy army to come marching into their trap.

It'd be hours.

He told his men to get a little bit of rest before the fight. Right now, everything was too quiet. Like the calm before the storm. He could feel the oncoming bloodbath in the air, it was almost like feeling the static before lightning struck.

It fried Hamilton's nerves.

He imagined death so much it felt more like a memory. In fact, it was a memory. He remembered it well. The suicide mission he signed up for. Him and his soldiers marching through the woods when they were ambushed. Him shouting orders, trying to save his men. The bullet tearing through his chest. Him laughing about it. He honestly didn't care back then. He had nothing to really live for anymore. He just couldn't help thinking that Jefferson saved him from one bullet only for him to be struck down by another.

Maybe bullets had a thing for him.

He could die here tonight. Another bullet could find its way into his heart. He could hear how Jefferson would scream. He could see how Jefferson would hold his limp body and then something in him would snap. He'd pick up his two pistols, jump down into the canyon and take on the entire army.

And he'd win.

He'd massacre the entire army before he finally dropped from his injuries. 

Hamilton couldn't die here. He and Jefferson were finally going to live the life they wanted. Rebuild the nation and not get shot by Burr. Hamilton sighed.

The sun finally rose into the sky and shortly after, the enemy army came marching into view. They were ready. This was it. As soon as that army was completely within their trap, all hell would break loose. Hamilton watched.

Then all at once, the entire rebel army leaped to their feet, lined the canyon walls, and opened fire. Bullets sprayed everywhere. Burr was probably chucking grenades and if that explosion was any clue, Lafayette never gave Jefferson his rocket launcher back.

The other army retaliated. Bullets embedded themselves into the canyon walls, the trees, and the soldiers that were next to Hamilton. Rebel fighters fell left and right. He grit his teeth and kept firing.

Suddenly, all fire from the enemy army ceased as they followed a new order. The entire mass turned as one toward the only way out, through Jefferson, and opened fire, desperate to get out. Jefferson's regiment was the largest of the entire Rebel army. That's why he'd been chosen for the position and it's also why Jefferson's troops pushed back, holding against the tide of enemies that rushed them like a tide. All the other rebels kept mowing down the enemy numbers.

Hamilton reached for a pair of binoculars and focused them on Jefferson's position. They were holding well, Hamilton could make out Jefferson on the front line, rallying the troops and giving them the courage to fight on. Like a true general, he was fighting with his men.

That is, until a rocket exploded in their ranks, sending people flying everywhere. Including Jefferson. Hamilton watched as Jefferson's body sailed through the air, crashed into a tree, and slid to the ground.

"Thomas!" Hamilton screamed. He looked around frantically, "Peggy!"

"Yes, sir?"

"You're in charge," Hamilton yelled as he raced off, leaving Peggy standing there with an entire regiment in her hands. He knew it wasn't fair to her but he didn't care. Hamilton hurtled through the trees, branched tearing at his face and roots clawing at his feet. He batted them away as he ran. And ran. And ran. Hamilton's position was the closest to Jefferson's, but they were still a good distance away.

Hamilton's heart thundered in his chest, his mind was racing a million miles a minute but somehow all he could think was that he had to get to Jefferson.

Hamilton broke out of the treeline and found himself immediately swept up in the chaos of Jefferson's ranks. Their morale had broken. They had just watched their general get flung across the battlefield like a ragdoll. Chain of command collapsed. Jefferson's second was trying to reestablished control but was failing. If something didn't happen soon, the line would collapse.

Hamilton grabbed a soldier by the shoulder and yanked him over, "Where's Jefferson?" Hamilton demanded.

The soldier looked at him with wide eyes. "He's dead."

Hamilton shook him, "I asked where! Now tell me where Jefferson is!" The soldier pointed. Hamilton practically threw the guy back to the front lines. "Go fight! Don't let these lines collapse!"

Hamilton ran in the direction the soldier pointed, grabbing soldiers and turning them back to the fight. Shouting at them all. "Fight on you cowards! This battle isn't lost! Are you going to let the Govey's take your general and the war? Fight until you can't stand or so help me God, I'll make sure you never walk again!"

Slowly, the lines reformed and a fragile order was reestablished thanks to Hamilton's raging and pushing people around as he made his way to where the soldier directed him. Jefferson's second looked over at Hamilton in gratitude, but Hamilton didn't notice. His eyes were fixed on the body that lies at the base of a tree.

He rushed forward, sinking to his knees and scooping Jefferson up in his arms. "Thomas," Jefferson's face was cut up and bloody. Blood dribbled from his lips and down his chin. He was limp and unmoving in Hamilton's arms, his head lolling back. Hamilton held it up for him, searching Jefferson's face for any hint of life.

"Thomas! You can't do this! You can't die on me again!"

Jefferson didn't move.

Hamilton screamed and clutched Jefferson's body to his, tears rolling down his face and splattering on Jefferson's skin. He screamed and screamed until his voice gave out.

Hamilton slid his arms under Jefferson's legs and back, picking him up and carrying him over to the makeshift hospital. He laid him gently down on a cot, stole his coat, held his hand for a moment longer, and walked back out.

He slipped on Jefferson's coat, breathing in the scent that still clung to it. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He attached the drop down rig that held Jefferson pistols to his legs and pulled Jefferson's cane from the specialized pocket.

Hamilton looked at the sky for a moment, his mind blank, his soul empty, before dropping down the side of the canyon walls and standing in front of the entire rebel army.

Everyone everywhere ceased fire. And the canyon was dead quiet as Hamilton stood in front of the enemy army, he looked like a demon, a death God. The rebels didn't want to fire on their own general, he could practically hear Washington yelling at him to get out of there. He could practically see Lafayette's face as he figured out the only reason why Hamilton would be doing what he was. The enemy looked at him in shock and confusion. Someone ordered them to continue firing. They all raised their guns, but Hamilton was already gone. Guns drawn, he aimed and fired. He wasn't as fast as Jefferson, never would be, Jefferson was a god with these pistols, but he was still good. Very good.

Soldiers fell around him in a pile as he danced and dodged, bullets whizzing through the air. Hamilton gasped as one struck his chest, but it was stopped thanks to Jefferson.

Jefferson was still saving Hamilton's life.

Hamilton fired and fired again. Someone was shouting to kill him, to stop him, something. Hamilton found him and aimed.

_Click_

Hamilton was out of ammo. He dropped the guns into their holsters and drew the sword from Jefferson's cane.

 


	33. Alive and Drunk

 

They won.

They won the battle.

They won the war.

But what was it for?

Hamilton pushed open the doors, gagging at the scent that filled his nose. He hated that scent. He walked down the hallway, knowing which way to go from memory. The lights hurt his eyes so he walked with his eyes closed, relying on his hearing to avoid people. He stopped in front of a door and finally blinked open his eyes. Taking a deep breath, pushed it open and stepped inside.

Lafayette stood inside, he looked up at Hamilton with sad eyes. He stood and wrapped Hamilton in a warm hug. Hamilton stood rigidly. He wouldn't break. He couldn't break. Lafayette murmured something that was no doubt comforting but Hamilton's mind was somewhere else. Lafayette pulled away, patted him on the back and left the room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Hamilton stood in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on the reason why he was there. Finally taking a seat where Lafayette had just vacated. He finally allowed himself to slump in the chair. No one was around to see him like that, no one was around to see the tears roll down Hamilton's face. He leaned forward and grabbed the limp hand that rested on the side of the bed. The lights were still too bright and the smell still stung Hamilton's nose. He hated hospitals. Jefferson was lying on a hospital bed hooked up to various machines that kept him alive.

Alive.

Hamilton remembered when Lafayette hunted him down and told him that Jefferson was still alive. Barely, but alive. He was in a coma. Hamilton had cried. Cried and clung to Lafayette like a child.

Hamilton had slaughtered almost the entire remains of the enemy army before he collapsed. Rebel snipers picked off the remaining soldiers. Hamilton had suffered from several gunshot wounds to his limbs, broken ribs, some knife wounds, and a broken hand from when he slammed his fist in the face of the leading general of the Governmental army.

That had been months ago. He was mostly healed up now. Just a little tender in some areas. But Jefferson still remained unconscious. The doctors said that the special body armor he wore saved his life, that he healed up fine, and now it was just up to him to wake up. But he wouldn't. So Hamilton just sat by his side every day, holding his hand, waiting.

The Convention was in a month. The Convention that would rebuild the nation. This was the part that Jefferson wanted to be there for, this was the part that was important to Jefferson. This was the part Jefferson dedicated his life to. But if he didn't wake up soon, he was going to miss it. All that fighting to miss the most important part.

Hamilton would rather him miss it than not wake up at all. But Jefferson would be crushed if he missed it.

At least he was alive. That's all that mattered.

***

Hamilton was at the bar with Laurens, Madison, Mulligan, Lafayette, and Burr. He was drinking heavily and only Lafayette could figure out why. Madison and Burr also seemed to be drinking more than usual. Laurens and Mulligan seemed sad, but to Hamilton, they didn't seem sad enough. Jefferson was in a coma for fuck's sake. So what if they weren't that close? Lafayette seemed to be shoving down his own pain so he could make sure Hamilton didn't do anything stupid. He has watching Hamilton out of the corner of his eye constantly.

Hamilton hated it.

Laurens walked over a sat down next to Hamilton. "Any change?" he asked, referring to Jefferson's condition.

"Do you really think if there was a change I'd be here right now?" Hamilton snapped.

"Woah, sorry, I was just asking. I didn't know the two of you were such good friends. You always seem to be bickering over something. I'm truly sorry this happened."

Hamilton took another deep drink, slammed down his drink and walked out the door. Everyone watching as he left. Lafayette went to go after him but Burr held him back and went after him himself. "Go away, Burr," Hamilton growled when he caught up.

"No. You're going to go do something stupid and I have to be around to clean up your mess."

"Fuck off."

"You hate me," Burr stated it as a fact. Hamilton didn't bother denying it. After a moment, Burr asked, "Since when are you and Jefferson close? You hate each other."

Hamilton wanted to slam his fist in Burr's face. But he couldn't. Burr couldn't remember and Hamilton promised Jefferson he'd give him a second chance. "Since he started fighting in the war and I had to work with him every day."

"You two practically ran off together for months."

"So?"

"So nothing," Burr shrugged. "I was just wondering. Where are we going anyway?"

"The hospital."

"You just came from there."

"Hospitals don't have strong alcohol," Hamilton said.

They walked in silence. Burr only spoke again after he'd been watching Hamilton watch Jefferson as he slept after they reached the hospital. "You're scared."

"I'm not scared of anything."

"You're scared he's going to die."

"That tends to happen when you're around," Hamilton snapped.

"What do you mean?" Burr asked, a confused expression crossing his face.

Hamilton sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Nothing. Nevermind. Forget I said that."

"No. You're right. I deserved that," Burr stated.

Hamilton's head snapped up and locked on Burr. "What did you say?"

"Jefferson will pull through. He always does. He'll wake up. He has too."

Hamilton watched him for a moment. "You remember, don't you?" Burr said nothing. He'd ignored Jefferson's advice and let Hamilton figure it out. Hamilton deserved to know. "You motherfucker," Hamilton said, rising out of his chair. "How long?" Hamilton asked, anger lacing his every word. "How long have you known?"

"The rally, when we first met."

Hamilton wanted to launch over the bed and strangle Burr, but he couldn't. Not in a hospital. Not in Jefferson's room. "Did Thomas know?"

"Yeah. He confronted me shortly before the last battle."

Jefferson lied. Hamilton fell back into his chair, all his energy drained out of him. He couldn't even bring himself to hate Burr at the moment, he was just so done. Jefferson lied to him to protect Burr. Why? Why would he do that? Burr's the one who shot him, who killed him, who took the life they were going to have together away. How could he do that?

"Get out," Hamilton whispered. Burr disappeared a moment later. Hamilton reached out and took Jefferson's hand. Hamilton sat there for the rest of the night, staring blankly at the wall.

**\----**


	34. Fight for Life

 

Hamilton stared at the empty place in the bed next to him. He was staying in a hotel room again. Jefferson was still at the hospital and the days were ticking away before the Convention would start. Screw the convention. Hamilton wanted Jefferson in his arms again.

He couldn't stand the empty bed. Jefferson was supposed to be there. He was supposed to steal all the blankets and pillows as they slept until Hamilton had to get up and climb inside the cacoon Jefferson had made, shoving Jefferson over so there'd be enough room. Jefferson was supposed to grumble every second of it but wrap himself around Hamilton as soon as he stopped moving. Jefferson was supposed to be there for Hamilton to bicker with. To be there so Hamilton could hold him and play music with him.

But he wasn't. And Hamilton couldn't stand it anymore. He launched out of bed, pulled on some clothes, made a cup of coffee, and then another cup, and then a pot which he drained in two seconds. He couldn't take another moment of this. He needed Jefferson. He couldn't live without him anymore. The door of the hotel room got flung open as he stomped his way downstairs and walked down to the hospital. He didn't stop when the lady tried to check him in. They knew who he was by now and if they couldn't just check him in themselves then fuck it. He didn't care. He burst into Jefferson's room, snatched up his hand and half shouted, half pleaded with him.

***

Jefferson was sitting comfortably on the couch in the library in Monticello reading a book while Hamilton was curled up beside him. Jefferson smiled, this was all he could ask for. This was all that he needed. A warm fire, a comfortable house, a book to read, and Hamilton by his side. He shifted and ran his hands through Hamilton's hair. Jefferson couldn't be happier than he was in that moment.

" _Thomas_!" Hamilton shouted. Jefferson jumped and looked down at Hamilton, but he was just reading, he hadn't even moved. " _Thomas, please!"_ The fire guttered out in the fireplace. " _Please! I can't take this anymore! Come back to me!"_

Jefferson didn't understand, he looked down at Hamilton, but he was gone. "Alexander?" The house was suddenly cold and Jefferson shivered.

" _I need you!"_

Jefferson leaped to his feet. "Alexander?! Alexander, where are you?!"

_"Please, Thomas!"_

Jefferson ran. Where was Hamilton? Hamilton needed him, he had to be there for him. He burst out if the library door and looked around and ran upstairs and started checking rooms. He had to be here somewhere.

" _Goddamnit_ _, Thomas! Get your ass back here!"_

Jefferson ran back into the hallway and glimpsed Hamilton disappearing down the stairs. He ran after him, taking the stairs three at a time as Hamilton walked out the front door, he turned to face Jefferson, reaching out to him, a kind smile on his face.  _Thomas,_ he seemed to mouth silently.  Jefferson stretched to reach, two steps away.

" _Wake up!"_

The door slammed shut right before Jefferson could touch Hamilton's hand. He pounded against the door crying desperately, but the door wouldn't open. He'd been too late. His fingers scratched the paint as he fell through the floor screaming, darkness enveloping him.

***

Hamilton collapsed back into his chair. Jefferson didn't even twitch.

"Alexander," Jefferson mumbled.

Hamilton was on his feet in an instant. "Thomas?" Jefferson didn't respond. Hamilton clutched Jefferson's hand tightly, praying with every bit of his body. After a couple of minutes and nothing new, Hamilton sat back into his chair. Lafayette walked in a moment later.

"Alex! How are you?" he asked wrapping Hamilton in a hug, "How is Thomas?" he asked after pulling away.

"I thought he woke up for a moment but no such luck."

"Really? That's good news, he might wake up soon."

"Maybe..." Hamilton looked over at the sleeping Jefferson, only to find him looking at Lafayette. Hamilton smacked Lafayette and nodded toward Jefferson. Lafayette turned and gasped.

Hamilton couldn't move. He was in shock. He was so happy that he was just frozen. Lafayette took a step forward, "Jefferson?"

"Hey Lafayette," Jefferson said, his voice raspy from the lack of use.

"You're awake!" Lafayette cheered, running forward and hug tackling Jefferson.

"How long was I out? What happened?" Jefferson asked after Lafayette released him and taking in his surroundings, figuring out he'd been unconscious for a while going by Lafayette's reaction.

"Over six months I think," Lafayette replied.

Hamilton finally found it in him to be able to speak, though for some reason he still couldn't move his legs. He felt if he tried, they'd give out. "Thomas," Hamilton forced himself to say, "I'm so glad you're awake."

Jefferson glanced to Lafayette for a second before smiling politely at Hamilton. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

**\----**


	35. Blank Slate

 

Hamilton froze.

He stopped.

He just stopped.

He searched Jefferson's eyes looking for any sign that Jefferson recognized him, anything that might show that this was just some sick joke so Hamilton could punch his face in. He found nothing of the sort. Jefferson was just looking at him in confusion, glancing at Lafayette for an explanation since Hamilton wasn't responding.

Lafayette looked between the two in shock. Hamilton took a step back, "No-" he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no, no," he said, backing into the wall. Hamilton turned and fled from the room, leaving a very befuddled Jefferson and a helpless Lafayette who was calling for a doctor.

Hamilton ran until he found somewhere where he was alone before he sank to the ground tore at his hair. No no no no no no no no this couldn't be happening. He just got him back. They just found each other again. Months, they'd only been back together for months before was ripped away from Hamilton again. It couldn't be real. None of this was real. He couldn't take it. There's no way he could survive without him anymore. After all they've been through. After all the pain they've shared.

A scream tore from Hamilton's throat, a loud, ugly, soul-wrenching scream, hands knotted in his hair, knees pulled to his chest. Jefferson had forgotten him. After all this? All the shit they've had to go through? Just when things were about to calm down and they could finally just be with each other.

Life isn't fair.

Death isn't fair.

They both teamed up on them and we're working together to give Hamilton and Jefferson the worst lives they could possibly have. Over and over again apparently. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Hamilton didn't ask to be pulled back into this. Hamilton didn't ask to have to go through this pain, Hamilton didn't ask if he wanted to relive losing everything that was important to him. He was just thrown back in and expected to make sense of it all. Well, what if he didn't want to? Had anyone ever thought of that? Maybe Alexander Hamilton was done.

Hamilton pulled out one of Jefferson's silver guns. He carried them with him wherever he went. Just because the war was over didn't mean the streets were safe. He looked at the metal and how it glinted in the moonlight. It was dark. No one would know until tomorrow morning. No one would even question the gunshot. His finger ran over the trigger as he studied the gun. It was cool and heavy in his hand.

Hamilton dropped his head, resting it against the cool metal, not the barrel, just the top of the gun. He couldn't do such a thing. Not right now. Not when Jefferson needed him most, even if he didn't know it. Hamilton had Jefferson's coat after all, he had to return that. And the pistols too, along with his cane. Jefferson loved those things.

Hamilton should've guessed this would happen. Nothing seems to go quite right for him and Jefferson. Hamilton pulled out his phone and dialed, "Hey Madison, yeah, no I'm doing fine. Yeah, hey listen, Jefferson woke up. Yeah. See you soon then." He hung up and dialed the next person.

After he finished calling everyone he could think of, he went home.

***

Jefferson watched the person rush out of the room. He guessed something was very wrong. Not only from the man's reaction but from Lafayette's worried face and shouting for a doctor. The doctor hurried in and looked pleased that Jefferson was awake. He ran him through several tests and told him that he'd be kept overnight and released in the morning. Then he left.

"Hey, Lafayette, who was that person?" Jefferson asked when they were alone again.

"You really don't remember?" Lafayette asked. Jefferson shook his head. "That was Alexander Hamilton."

Alexander Hamilton. The name didn't ring any bells. "What was he doing here?"

"He's been watching over you the entire time. And I'm not saying anything else because that's his decision to make."

"I'm gonna guess that we used to be close?" Before Lafayette could answer a whole bunch of people walked in the door shouting.

"Jefferson! Glad to see you're still alive!" Mulligan shouted. Madison walked over and clapped him on the back, Burr nodded from the corner of the room and Laurens was grinning.

"Madison! Burr! Great to see you!" Jefferson said happily. Jefferson turned to Lafayette, "Umm, who are the other two?"

Silence.

"Shit," Mulligan swore.

"Does Hamilton know he's missing some memories?" Burr asked Lafayette.

Lafayette sighed, "He was the first to find out."

"Well, fuck," Burr responded.

"Okay, I'm right here and this is kinda awkward," Jefferson said.

"Right!" Lafayette said, reverting back to his usual perky self to try and soften the situation. "Well, that one's Hercules Mulligan and the other is John Laurens."

"Okay. Who wants to fill me in on how I know you?"

"All of us met at the rally," Mulligan answered, gesturing to everyone in the room. "You and Hamilton decided to steal a tank and we jumped on board."

"How do you remember meeting Lafayette and Burr but not us at the rally?" Laurens asked.

"What?" Jefferson asked, "No, I met Lafayette in France after the war."

Lafayette went rigid and started looking around at the others to see how they reacted to the odd statement. Burr laughed nervously, "No Jefferson, you're mistaken, you met Lafayette and me at the rally."

Jefferson looked at Burr with confusion, "Didn't we meet when-" Lafayette clamped a hand over his mouth. Burr immediately turned his attention to Lafayette realizing there was only one reason why Lafayette would shut Jefferson up and that was if he remembered as well.

"Hey Laurens, Mulligan, Burr why don't you go look for Alex, he ran off earlier and I don't know where he went," Lafayette said.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Laurens said, pulling Mulligan with him. Burr followed, told them he thought it was best if they split up to cover more ground, waited for them to walk off and then immediately went back inside the room.

"-can't say things about- Burr?" Lafayette stopped mid-sentence, "I thought you were looking for Hamilton.

"Laurens and Mulligan can handle that. How long have you known?"

"Known? Known want?"

"How long have you had your memories?" Burr clarified.

"You remember too? I thought Washington, Hamilton, Jefferson, and King George were the only ones that knew."

"Wait, King George and Washington know?" Burr asked.

"Yeah, Jefferson didn't tell you?"

"No, we were having a different conversation."

"Hello, umm, still here by the way. What's going on?" Jefferson asked. "I've got a whole bunch of conflicting memories. Like I'm pretty sure I died. Someone explain."

So they did. As best they could. Lafayette left out everything about Hamilton and by the end, Jefferson was really wondering who this guy was, especially since Hamilton was pretty much most of the story. "Okay, neither of you said anything about this Hamilton guy, what's his story and how do I know him?"

Lafayette sighed. "Like I said, that's for Hamilton to tell you himself."

Jefferson sighed. What was with all the mystery anyway? Was it a big deal? Was there some huge thing that this impacted? He just wanted to know who this guy was.

**\----**


	36. The Story of Jefferson and Hamilton

 

When the doctor did a final check up the next morning, he told Jefferson that his memories would either come back on their own or not come back it all. He may have said that in a kinder way but Jefferson took it as is. There was a possibility that he would never remember important aspects of his life.

Luckily, he did remember where his house was.

And apparently, so did that Hamilton guy, because when Jefferson got out of the cab, Hamilton was leaning against his front door looking at the cloud that floated overhead in the New York sky. As soon as Hamilton realized Jefferson was there, his gaze instantly fixed on him. It was kinda of uncomfortable.

 _Just deal with him like you would any other stranger leaning on your door_.

Jefferson walked up and stopped in front of the small man. Jesus, this guy was short. He had to be seven inches shorter than Jefferson. He looked sad despite his defiant stance and bearing. "Hello, darlin," Jefferson greeted, his southern accent suddenly seemed way more pronounced to him than usual, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Hamilton pushed himself off the door, "Just came to return some of your things," he replied, nodding a coat and cane that lay off to the side.

"Those are mine," Jefferson realized upon seeing them.

"That would be why I'm giving them back," Hamilton said, rolling his eyes.

Jefferson scooped them up, the coat was a lot heavier than he thought it would be. He unwrapped it to find two shining, silver guns, freshly cleaned and oiled. "I got these for my daughter when she joined the war," Jefferson said to himself. Was he going to be spouting out random memories every time he saw something that reminded him of it?

Hamilton's gaze rose to Jefferson's. He hadn't known that. Jefferson's daughter Martha had died during the first rebellion as soon as she was old enough to join. Jefferson had given her these and when she died, it was what they sent back. Jefferson ran his fingers over the metal. "Thank you for bringing them back to me," he said, still looking at the pistols.

Hamilton shrugged, "Sure."

He stepped out of the door and was about to leave when Jefferson turned around and said, "Would you like to come inside?" Hamilton stopped. Did he want to? Of course. Could his heart handle it? Probably not. "I mean, you don't have to, but I could put on some tea and you could tell me who you are."

Hamilton's already shattered heart broke even more. But Jefferson deserved to know. Hamilton couldn't just keep all that information, so many years of his life from him. Plus, Hamilton really wanted to sit and have some tea with him like the good old days. "Sure," he said. Hamilton steeled himself before he went inside, both against the conversation he was about to have and the memory of being shot and kidnapped from this house.

Jefferson didn't remember that happening, so he unlocked the door and swung it open like it was the safest place in the world and gestured Hamilton inside. He walked in and was greeted by the familiar open floor plan. He could see the kitchen and the living room, so he went to the kitchen, knowing that's where Jefferson would go to make tea. When Jefferson didn't immediately follow, he turned around to see where he went.

Jefferson was standing in the doorway, his eyes wide, fist clenched tightly around his cane to where his knuckles turned white. Fuck. Hamilton knew that look. He ran over and stood in front of the tall man, "Jefferson," he said urgently, waving his hand in front of his face. Jefferson snapped out of it and looked down at Hamilton, his grip on his cane relaxing.

"I was kidnapped," he said.

Hamilton sighed, "We. We got kidnapped. You should go sit down, I'll make the tea."

"But-"

"No. It's not like I'm a normal guest that you need to host. You go sit down before you pass out. I know where everything should be."

Jefferson wanted to protest. To him, Hamilton was a normal guest, he shouldn't be the one to make the tea, that was Jefferson's job. But at the same time, he had spoken with such an authority and Jefferson's legs were barely supporting his weight at this point, so Jefferson did as Hamilton said, he collapsed onto a couch. Hamilton poked around in the kitchen, grabbing tea out of the cupboard and pouring water into a kettle. A minute or so later, Hamilton handed Jefferson a hot cup and sat down in a chair.

Jefferson took a drink, "You made it exactly how I like it," Jefferson said, slightly shocked. People always tended to mess it up. Hamilton gave him a duh, of course, I made it how you like it, expression. Jefferson took another drink. This was kinda awkward. He cleared his throat, "So, how'd you and I meet?"

Hamilton went to explain but paused, "Do you still have your past life memories?" Jefferson nodded. "Okay, first time or second time then?"

"Let's go chronological order so I can fill in gaps as we go."

Hamilton nodded. This was going to be a long and emotionally draining night. "We met after you came home from France and joined Washington's cabinet. You were the Secretary of State and I was the Secretary of-"

"-of Treasury," Jefferson finished. "Yeah, I hated you."

Hamilton coughed. "Yeah, well, the feeling was mutual." He continued to explain events that had happened that Jefferson didn't seem to remember. "We started to actually get to know each other when I fell and hit my head on my desk late one night. I don't really know exactly what happened since I was unconscious, but I think you found me, stitched up my head, and carried me home."

"I carried you home? Why would I carry you all the way home, on foot, if I hated you?" Jefferson asked.

Hamilton shrugged, "It's always been a mystery to me."

"Okay, so we started talking more?"

"Kinda. The next time we ran into each other, I went into your office to demand why you carried me home and then lied to my wife. I ended up just getting back an old book from an incident that happened between us that I'm not even going to explain."

"Okay?"

"And then we had a cabinet meeting about my financial plan."

"Dear God."

"Yeah, it went about as well as you'd think." Hamilton filled him in on all the details. "And then you tried to lend me a book which I dropped on your floor and left. Don't forget about that book, it comes up again."

"Alright."

"Then I passed out in your office."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, I burst in to yell at you about something but passed out from lack of sleep instead."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I woke up at your place-"

"My place?"

"Yep. You threw me in a carriage and carted me off to your place. You only had one bed, so you put me on it and slept on the couch instead. I woke up and started yelling at you so you promised to stuff me in a broom closet the next time. A promise which you surprisingly kept." Hamilton kept going through all their interactions that he could remember, which was a surprisingly long and detailed list. "Then everything in my life changed when Eliza burned down my house. Naturally, I got drunk and in that state, I turned up on your doorstep. You let me spend the night and then I pretty much just didn't leave."

"What do you mean you didn't leave?"

"Well, I didn't have a home to go back to, and you never kicked me out, so I just kinda stuck around. It was the same night I showed up drunk that I discovered you had nightmares just like I did. You speak French when you're drunk." Jefferson nodded at that. "And randomly super depressed. Drunk you is a serious thing. You don't like to drink."

"I know that, Hamilton."

"Right. Anyway, that was the night I came this close to kissing you."

"Woah, woah, woah. Hold up. That was a major turn. Backup. Explain."

"It's not important," Hamilton wave him off, "not yet. Just keep listening." Jefferson let it slide and Hamilton went to continue but stopped. "Okay, maybe it's a little more important than I thought. Because the next night, when you came home and found me in your bed like I usually was, instead of crawling on the couch like you usually do, you joined me in on the bed and fell asleep."

"The fuck?"

"I don't think you meant to fall asleep. But I woke up with my arms around you thinking you were Eliza and that turned into a big ordeal in which I almost murdered you. I marched out of the house and visited my old house that Eliza burned to the ground where I found a note from her. I took it back and showed it you, unable to bring myself to read it. You snatched it out of my hand and read it aloud for me, basically saying that she'd take me back."

"That's good news, right?"

Hamilton didn't know how to respond to that. "Umm, yes and no."

"Yes and no?"

"Just listen. I immediately started packing and when I was about to leave forever, you grabbed me by the arm," Hamilton coughed nervously, "And you kissed me." Jefferson stared at him blank faced. "For like a millisecond before you slammed the door in my face."

"So what did you do?"

"I went back to my wife."

"You didn't stay? Shit, Hamilton, that's like literally the most cliche scene ever. Of course he liked you." Hamilton stared at Jefferson for a moment. Jefferson realized his mistake. "Me. I guess that was me."

Hamilton decided to just leave that be and move on. He explained how the next time they saw each other was in a park in the middle of the night. How his wife and he weren't anywhere close to patching things up. And about the time Jefferson had gotten deathly sick.

"I remember that. Except everything was blurry and I was always at least half delirious."

Hamilton talked about how they ran into each other at the congress building. "Then my son died."

"Fuck."

"Yeah. Eliza divorced me soon after and you showed up in my life again."

"Really? How'd that happen?"

"I guess you heard about what happened, came over, saw my condition, and then just started taking care of me. I honestly don't remember much of it. Just emptiness and when I finally came to, I was at your place again. After awhile, you invited me to Monticello."

"I invited you to Monticello?"

"Yep. But we didn't go for a while. You were vice-president and had stuff to take care off. There was this one night where I was more down than usual and you were trying to help me out. There was one thing that I didn't want to confess, but I think you figured it out because you crouched down in front of me, slid your hand into mine, leaned in until you were hair's breath away from my lips and whispered in French, "Too bad," then you pulled away and said, "it sounds like an interesting conversation." A second later you bid me goodnight and disappeared upstairs."

"You were into him-me, sorry, by this point right? Why didn't you kiss me?" Jefferson was having a hard time remembering that this was him and not some random person Hamilton was telling him about.

"Fuck off and let me continue. I followed you upstairs to find you asleep on the bed and I thought, fuck it, I'm joining him. Then I chickened out and went for the couch. But you stopped me and pulled me into bed and wrapped your arms around me."

"I had no idea this was a love story."

"More of a tragedy really,"

"Oh shit, do we go through some Shakespeare level crap?"

"If you're asking if everyone dies, then no. Well, yes. I don't know. Just stop talking and fucking listen. I wrote a letter to Adams that pretty much ended his career. I discovered you drink prissy coffee and then we went to Monticello."

"Excuse you, my coffee is delicious."

"Your coffee is cream and sugar with a splash of coffee for taste."

"Fuck you, but continue, we were on our way to Monticello."

"Yes, where you showed me your library and then shoved me in a broom closet."

"Well, you can't say I'm not a man of my word."

"That's when I learned you could play violin. You tried to teach me a little bit but I was awful, but I guessed you liked it because that was the day you first pulled me against you and kissed me. A real kiss. That's the day I also learned that if I tug on your hair just right, your self-control goes flying out the window."

Jefferson suddenly felt very vulnerable.

Hamilton went on, explaining their days at Monticello and how they were soon called back to New York to continue their political lives. He talked about how Jefferson and him spent little time together once he became president, and how Hamilton got into his duel with Burr. When he got to the point where Jefferson died, he had to take his time so he didn't cry. No way was he going to cry in front of Jefferson while he was like this.

"So that's how I got shot. I couldn't figure out why Burr shot me. It didn't make any sense, but if I was defending you, it all fits together. Okay. So that was my first life? What about this one?"

"Oh, that's an even longer and wilder story. I'll tell it to you later, but for now, let's take a break. Find some food, get some more tea."

Jefferson just realized how painful this had to be for Hamilton. He was retelling everything that had happened between the two of them. No doubt they had grown extremely close, now Hamilton was talking to a ghost. A shadow of what Jefferson used to be to him. How would it feel if Jefferson woke up one day to find the person he loved more than anyone in the world didn't even remember him? "Sure," Jefferson said. After a moment of thought, Jefferson added, "You can stay here tonight if you want. It's pretty late and I have a guest room..."

Hamilton's head snapped up. Stay with Jefferson...in a guest room. Hamilton guessed it'd be no different from sleeping in his hotel room. But still, sleep under the same roof as Jefferson and not be in the same bed? It practically punched Hamilton in the chest. This was all real. Jefferson didn't know him. He knew of him now, from the stories that Hamilton just told, but he could tell that Jefferson didn't really connect with any of it. He distanced himself, it was like Hamilton had told the story of Thomas Jefferson to some random stranger on the street. This guy wasn't really his Jefferson. He wasn't even the same person. "Sure," Hamilton agreed.

Jefferson smiled, slightly awkwardly, remembering that he was supposed to be head over heels for this man and he just invited him to sleep over. He got up and set about making some dinner. Hamilton watched. He watched everything Jefferson did, they way he walked, the way he stood, the way he flipped his cooking utensil in his hand. He was the same person. That was Hamilton's Jefferson. All his mannerisms were the same, the way he spoke and stood, the way he hummed as he cooked, the way he smiled. It was Hamilton's Jefferson, just without Hamilton.

And it broke Hamilton's heart.

**\----**


	37. Constitutional Convention Take Two

 

Hamilton finished telling Jefferson about his life that night over dinner but Jefferson didn't seem any different for it. He just sipped at his wine and listened like it was all some sort of sad sob story that didn't affect him in any way. When Hamilton finally finished, Jefferson set down his glass, cleared his throat and said, "So, I guess that means you're my boyfriend?"

Hamilton choked on his food. After hitting his chest a couple times and taking a drink, he finally replied, "I guess you could put it bluntly like that," he trailed off, knowing what Jefferson must be thinking. No memories at all about Hamilton and here he was telling him they'd been romantically involved in two lifetimes. Now he was sitting across the table. Hamilton was wondering where this left them.

"And I'm going to make another guess and say that that's not really the case anymore?"

Hamilton's heart froze. Jefferson said it. He actually said it. He didn't consider them as anything other than associates anymore. Hamilton expected it but it still tore him apart. "I guess not," Hamilton barely managed to say. Jefferson watched him with an intense stare, looking for something Hamilton didn't know.

The rest of the night passed in mostly awkward silence. Hamilton wanted more than anything to leave, but he agreed to stay, so he would. Jefferson showed him to his room and then disappeared to his own.

He couldn't sleep that night. Nightmares plagued him every second he closed his eyes. Whether Jefferson had a nightmare or not, Hamilton didn't know and he couldn't bring himself to walk out into the living room to see if there was a cup of tea waiting for Hamilton to claim. So he opted to stare at the ceiling all night instead.

***

Jefferson went on with his life and Hamilton tried his best to. He did what he always did when he couldn't cope, he threw himself into his work. Hardly slept, hardly ate. His friends dropped by all the time, trying to coax Hamilton into a night off, a couple of drinks at a pub, but they never got much out of him. Lafayette tried to set up times when both Jefferson and Hamilton would meet up, but Hamilton always found some sort of excuse and he didn't even want to think about what Jefferson might think about it all. Lafayette said that Jefferson spent most of his time alone or with either himself, Madison, or Burr since he could remember the three of them. Burr was trying his best to patch things up with Jefferson and Hamilton. Hamilton refused to forgive him but Jefferson didn't seem to even care that Burr had shot him, he couldn't even remember why he stepped in front of Burr's bullet, he knew why now since Hamilton told him, but Jefferson felt Burr couldn't be held accountable for something Jefferson decided to do on his own.

In Hamilton's opinion, Burr deserved to have Hamilton's hands wrapped around his throat.

Lafayette kept putting off his return to France in favor of trying to help his friends.

Before anyone knew it, the Convention was finally upon them. Hamilton had spent all his time preparing for it. This was what all the blood and fighting had been for. A brand, sparkling new, strong central government. This is what Hamilton and Jefferson fought for so hard and it was finally here for them to shape with their own hands.

It was to take place in Philadelphia's Independence Hall where the original Constitution was adopted and signed. Everyone felt it was appropriate. So Hamilton stood before the old building like he did so many years ago when he was still so young. So so young. Now he felt ancient. With all that he'd seen, with all that he lived and didn't live through. He almost felt older than dirt, but when he stood in front of that Hall again, he felt like he'd been thrown back in time.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" a familiar southern accent said from next to him. 

Hamilton almost jumped out of his skin. "What do you mean? You weren't here for the Constitutional Convention. You were still in France."

Jefferson rested his cane on his shoulder, looking up at the building, "No, but this is where we signed and ratified the Declaration of Independence, which I put so much time and sweat into writing. This is where our efforts turned us into a sovereign nation. As of July 4, 1776, we were no longer the colonies, we became the United States of America. That document is one of my proudest accomplishments."

Hamilton looked over to see the pride on Jefferson's face. "Well, I guess it's time to get started all over again." Without waiting for a reply, Hamilton walked in the doors. Instead of it being a whole bunch of representatives of all the states gathered around at their separate, respective tables like the first time, It was one long table with countless chairs around it. Those there were the ones that had fought in the war. The leading generals as well as their seconds and thirds. Then there was the added addition of one mostly political addition from each state.  Hamilton took his seat to the right of the head of the table, no doubt where Washington would sit.

Slowly, members began to fill in. Jefferson wandered in and looked around. The table was massive, thick and well crafted. He had to admire the craftsmanship that went into it but at the same time, he wondered what kind of tree was felled just to make it. Madison was already sitting near the center of the table, Jefferson went to join him but found all the seats were already full. He studied the table closer. Everyone had sectioned off according to state. New York and Virginia, currently being the most powerful and influential states were in the center, but Hamilton sat separately, to the right of the head of the table, which was currently empty. That's when Jefferson realized there were only two vacant seats left. Did he really spend so much time outside admiring the architecture of the building? Jefferson slid into his seat.

Washington was the last to arrive. He walked in the door, glanced around and saw that the only seat available was at the head. He really didn't want to sit at the head, it was a symbol of power. As were the two seats on the right and left. With a sigh, Washington took his place at the head of the table, nodding his greetings to Hamilton and Jefferson on his right and left. Washington couldn't complain about that arrangement. Between the three of them, they held the entire public face of the Revolution. They all had massive influence. If anything, it was the only proper arrangement, even if Washington didn't like being at the head of it.

"Alright," he said, looking at each member individually, "Let's form a government."

**\----**


	38. Diametrically Opposed

 

Everyone looked around at each other, unsure of exactly how to start this off. The only people that did know were at the head of the table and knew that as soon as someone said something, chaos would descend, so they were in no rush to start it themselves. Except maybe Hamilton. He was organizing his papers, getting ready to go when Burr said from across the room, "Why don't we just reestablish the old Constitution?"

"Are you fucking insane?" Hamilton gawked. "How do you think we ended up here in the first place? The first form of government didn't work so what do we do? Oh, let's do the same fucking thing over again."

Burr glared at Hamilton, "Sounds kinda familiar, doing things over."

"It's exactly what mankind does with everything else. Oh, a natural disaster just destroyed this town. Let's build it back in the exact same spot only bigger!" Laurens said.

"Okay, back on track then," Monroe spoke up, "Maybe that is all we need, a do-over. The Constitution worked well for two hundred and thirty plus years. Of course, we can add modifications."

"So this can all happen again in another two hundred years? If we keep going through a total national collapse, the nation is gonna get ripped apart and sold to the highest bidder. China probably," Hamilton countered. "We can't go through a revolution every two hundred years."

"The Constitution is outdated and was never perfect anyway. The founding fathers knew it, and that's why it was expected to go through a change every one hundred or so years, likely through a revolution like the one we just went through," Jefferson said.

"What're you trying to say, Jefferson?" Hamilton asked.

"*We may consider each generation a distinct nation, with a right, by the will of its majority, to bind themselves, but none to bind the succeeding generation, more than the inhabitants of another country,*" Jefferson explained.

"Dear God, you sound like you're from the 1700's," a man from Virginia complained. "English, please."

Jefferson rubbed his temples, this was going to be a long day. "I'm saying that if future generations decide that a revolution is necessary, that's not our place to call. We'll be dead, we can't possibly know what's best for a time we'll never experience."

Burr, Hamilton, Washington, and Jefferson all shared a look like they all weren't living in a time they should never have experienced.

"So you're suggesting a revolution every couple hundred years is a good thing?" Burr asked.

"*The spirit of resistance to government is valuable on certain occasions that I wish it to be always kept alive,*" Jefferson stated. "It makes corruption harder and less likely to happen."

"This is getting us nowhere. We're here to build a government for the people right now. We can bicker about how to make it flexible later. We need foundations, framework," Washington said, trying to steer everyone back on track. "Hamilton, if you think we shouldn't reestablish the old Constitution, what would you suggest instead?"

"A strong, central government with the power to lead the people and unify them as one," Hamilton replied.

"And take the power away from the people?" Madison asked, "that's exactly what got us into this mess." Before Hamilton could respond, Madison pressed on. "Jefferson and I have discussed outlines for a new government at length, late into the night on several occasions. I suggest we separate the powers even more. We started out with four branches of government, the Legislative, the Executive, the Judicial, and the States. Over time, the States faded into the background as the other branches absorbed a lot of its powers. So we have been going off three branches for the past several decades until the oligarchy came into power."

"Get to the point," Hamilton sighed.

"I propose five branches. And each branch split down and overlapping to where none can overpower another."

"Five branches?" Laurens asked, "What would they all be?"

"Keep the three, reestablish the States, and the People," Jefferson responded for Madison.

"The people?" Hamilton scoffed, "They don't need their own branch. And with the way you're trying to form this, the people will have too much power anyway, what do they need a branch for? People can't be trusted to govern themselves completely. The entire system will collapse."

"I'm fairly certain the government getting too big is what led us here today, just like the first revolution," Jefferson said pointedly.

"And the people having too much power almost destroyed France and all of Europe," Hamilton shot back.

Jefferson grit his teeth. Usually, everyone in the room would be talking over each other and getting into heated arguments, but everyone seemed to step down to watch the one that was about to explode between Hamilton and Jefferson. Jefferson's hands clenched the table, his fingers turning white as a vision of a past political battle flashed before him.

" _Life liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We fought for these ideals we shouldn't settle for less..."_ Jefferson muttered.

Hamilton's eyes widened and James Madison's head snapped around to Jefferson. "What do you just say?" Hamilton asked quietly, the rest of the room strained to hear.

"What? I didn't say anything," Jefferson said, pulling out of his daze. Hamilton narrowed his eyes suspiciously while Madison dropped his head in his hands and pulled at his hair. Jefferson had told Hamilton that he didn't remember the cabinet battles. They were a memory with Hamilton in it so of course he didn't remember. When Hamilton told Jefferson about them, he didn't quote any lines. How did Jefferson know that line?

Hamilton studied Jefferson closely. He was slightly pale, sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was shaking ever so slightly. Jefferson drew a deep breath calmed himself down. Madison excused himself from the table. Burr watched him go.

Washington watched everything closely and had a guess of what was going on. "Let's adjourn for the day," he said.

"But sir," Jefferson protested, "We haven't covered any ground. We need to at least make a little progress."

"I said we're adjourning. Take a break, Jefferson." Everyone else was already packing up, but Jefferson sat stubbornly at the table, slouched back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Washington gave Hamilton a pointed look before leaving as well.

After everyone cleared out of the room, Hamilton's eyes met Jefferson's and almost flinched. Jefferson was staring at him icily, a look Hamilton hadn't seen since they hated each other. He drew in a breath, power through, just power through. "You remembered something, didn't you?"

Jefferson just kept glaring. "I didn't realize you such a bigoted prick," he said, his voice sharp.

"What?" Hamilton didn't understand, Jefferson hasn't said anything like that to Hamilton since before...since before... "What did you see?" Hamilton demanded.

"Our cabinet meetings," Jefferson sneered, "You always had something awful to say about me, didn't you?"

Of course that'd be what Jefferson remembers first. Out of everything it had to be that. "Don't act like you're innocent, you had plenty of insults to throw at me!"

"I was trying to help the small people! You were too focused on building industry and climbing the ladder to higher power!" Jefferson shot back.

"You couldn't see five feet in front of your face let alone what was good for the nation!"

"I didn't know what was good for the nation? Well apparently when I died, I left you in charge and look where we are now! Everything's gone to shit. Really good job you did there Mr. Ten Dollar Founding Father."

Oh, that was low, pulling the death card on Hamilton. "Asshole."

"You piece of shit."

Hamilton's heart sank. That wasn't right. None of this was right.

"Umm, what was all that?" a voice asked from the doorway.

Hamilton and Jefferson swiveled to see Madison. "What? Oh, nothing James, Hamilton and I were just discussing politics," Jefferson waved it off.

"Yeah, politics from the 1700's," Madison said, crossing his arms. Jefferson and Hamilton looked at each other. Oh shit. "Tell me what's going on."

Jefferson and Hamilton were at a loss for words. Then Hamilton remembered how when Jefferson mumbled about his memory, Madison went pale as well and left the room. Hamilton rounded on Madison, "You just got them back, didn't you? Just now, during the Convention?"

Burr clapped a hand on Madison's shoulder, making the guy jump in surprise. "I finally found you," he said, "We should talk."

"Don't bother Burr," Jefferson called out from lounging on his chair, "we were about to have that conversation."

***

The next day arrived and everyone was sitting around the table again just like yesterday, except there was one more person with memories of a different life, James Madison.

"Okay, okay, let me get this straight, you want two presidents with two vice presidents each and then a separate cabinet for each president that has to collaborate with each other? So there'd be two Secretaries of States and two Secretaries of Treasuries?" a woman from Kentucky clarified. Hamilton knew her, she was Bonne Watkins, relatively new to the whole politics game.

"That's utterly ridiculous," Hamilton said. "There are too many strings. It's going to get all tangled up."

"It's a spider web," Madison said. "Prevents corruption. There are way more hoops to jump through."

"Yes, but also way more hoops to jump through before anything can get done," replied Angelica. Hamilton heard she'd come back from London, but he had no idea that she'd be representing New York alongside him. Peggy and Eliza were there too. Well, at least New York wasn't under-represented.

"Not if we do it right," a New Jersey girl said. That'd be Mrs. Theodosia Burr, she was there along with her father. Turns out, she's much more outspoken than Burr. Who knew? "It's like a chain of command, except everyone's on the same level. If they cooperate right, things can get done in no time at all."

" _If_  they get along," Peggy responded, " and we all know that no one gets along, especially if they're required to be from different parties."

"If they're from different parties, there's balance. If one party is in charge, the nation changes too fast and collapses. If the other is in charge, then the nation changes too slow and turns to dust. But if you balance the two, the nation can move at just the right place without falling apart. Everything about government is a delicate balance," Jefferson explained. "Besides, we need to find a way to dissolve this two party system and at least allow it to become a multi-party."

"The original Constitution didn't allow for political parties, no one thought of it," Madison jumped in, "We need to prepare for it this time. As much as I wish we could do away with them entirely, I don't think that's going to happen."

"Last time we made the Constitution, it was a shilly-shally thing of milk and water. I'm surprised it's lasted this long," Hamilton retorted.

"You all talk as if you've done this before," Laurens commented. "It's disturbing.

Jefferson, Burr, Hamilton, and Madison all shut up at once and the room was suddenly unnervingly quiet. Someone coughed.

Hamilton decided this was his chance. He stood from his chair and addressed the room. "*Why has government been instituted at all? Because the passions of men will not conform to the dictates of reason and justice, without constraint.* I'm not saying the people having power is a bad thing, I'm saying too much power is a bad thing. People are prone to do stupid things, especially those who are not educated in the area. *Here, sir, the people govern; here they act by their immediate representatives.* Yes to the Senate and the House. But we can't have so little power to the government. You're suggesting a system where a state can almost just refuse to follow a law. If we institute a government that seems like it's optional, we'll descend into anarchy. All the states will become their own nations. *We are now forming a republican government. Real liberty is neither found in despotism or the extremes of democracy, but in moderate governments.* A strong government built to unite the entire nation as one whole." Hamilton paused. "*Men often oppose a thing merely because they have had no agency in planning it, or because it may have been planned by those whom they dislike,*" he looked pointedly at all those he knew were against him, his eyes lingering on Jefferson the longest. "*It's not tyranny we desire; it's a just, limited, federal government.*" Hamilton sat back down and watched how people reacted.

Jefferson mulled over Hamilton's words. Chewed on them. Then he finally stood. Hamilton raised an eyebrow at him. Jefferson wasn't one for public speaking unless he had to. "*I would rather be exposed to the inconveniences attending too much liberty than those attending too small a degree of it.* *The way to have good and safe government is not to trust it all to one, but to divide it among the many, distributing to every one exactly the functions he is competent to.**We are not to expect to be translated from despotism to liberty in a featherbed.* We have fought, we have bled, we have lost for our rights, for the rights of the people to be who they want to be. I will not stand for a government that could easily build itself up overnight and take that away again. *The natural progress of things is for liberty to yield and government to gain ground.* Too much government leads to forgetting that those affected are living, breathing people that fight day to day. That those living under the laws passed are not a number, are not a ratio, are not a percent. They are you and me, our mothers, father, brothers, sisters, daughters, sons, wives, husbands, and friends. Which in turn leads to oppression and then war. *I have seen enough of one war never to wish to see another.* *A government big enough to give you everything you want, is a government big enough to take away everything that you have.* That is what needs to be avoided. Liberty does not come in the form ignorant bliss but from taking what you want out of life with your own two hands. Being your own person." Jefferson sat down. States started whispering amongst themselves as Jefferson and Hamilton stared each other down.

The Kentucky girls were arguing heatedly with North Carolina. Virginia and New York were practically having a death match. After a long, long time, Washington finally adjourned.

***

Several days passed. Days turned into weeks. Ever so slowly, the government was taking form.

As was Jefferson's dislike for Hamilton.

It was settled that there would be two presidents and four vice presidents, each elected in a different way. Hamilton was placing money on George being the first president. One president would be elected by the people and the other would be elected by the state. Each vice president would be elected by the Senate, the House of Representatives, the Judicial Branch, or the States. Each Vice President was the head of a different branch than the one they were elected from. The two presidents had to be of different parties and the vice presidents couldn't both be of the same party under the same president. More power was given to the people and the branches of the State and the People were just as closely intertwined as the Legislative and Executive, if not closer. The Judiciary branch was partly elected by each of the other branches. Basically, each branch had checks and balanced over each other in so many different ways it would take centuries of extremely poor choices to unravel. And there were checks against that too. Between the State and the People branches, if it became necessary, the people could call a convention and redesign the entire government if amending the New Constitution didn't work. The Bill of Rights had a couple of additions as well, including same-sex marriage and gender equality.

Now came the hard part. Getting people to accept and ratify it.

**\----**


	39. Strangers

 

Jefferson sat comfortably on his couch, legs tucked up under him, a warm blanket, tea in his hand, and a book on his lap. It couldn't get much better than that. The convention had stressed him out completely. The roundabout arguments with Hamilton that were just non-stop. On and on and on and on. Hamilton just jabbered away. How did he talk so much? Like seriously? Jefferson could shoot down every single point in Hamilton's six-hour speech in two minutes and still have everyone just as captivated. He didn't understand why Hamilton couldn't just say what he wanted to say without all the unnecessary drama.

Every time Jefferson so much looked at the guy, his blood boiled.

He didn't understand, from what Jefferson could remember, he and Hamilton loathed each other. How does that just suddenly change? Hamilton said that it all started when Eliza burnt down his house, but Jefferson felt that wasn't true. If Jefferson had really hated him then, he wouldn't have let Hamilton stay at his house.

Not that Jefferson could remember how it all happened.

At this point, all he knew was that Hamilton was insufferable but he was going to have to deal with him in order to build a stable nation. That's what mattered more than anything, the nation and the people living there.

He stared at his book and realized he just read two chapters without absorbing anything it said. He sighed, great, now Hamilton was making it impossible to read too. Jefferson shut the book, got up and began to pace the kitchen. Restless. That's what he was. Why was he so restless? He just got back from literally forming a new constitution, the basis of the new nation.

Frustrated, he did what he always did when he got restless, stalked into his bedroom and grabbed his violin. The wooden instrument had always been a way he dealt with things he couldn't make sense of. He plucked the strings with his long fingers. G, D, A, E. Each note hummed as he plucked the open strings. The vibrations danced through the wood and up his arm, through his chest. Beautiful. He set the violin aside, grabbed his bow and rosined it up, sliding the amber looking tree sap along the horse hairs. He tucked the violin under his chin and slid the bow across the strings, closing his eyes and soaking up the vibrations that hummed through the air. He didn't even think about what he was playing, he just played.

For some reason beyond his understanding, the song made him sad, like it was missing a half of itself. His thoughts went suddenly to Hamilton again. The way his eyes had sparked when he argued heatedly with Jefferson over the governmental structure they were putting in place. Jefferson played faster. God damn it. Why did he have to think about that bastard? Why couldn't his mind just shut up?

He did the only thing he could think of. He played the same song again. Over and over until someone knocked on his door.

Placing the violin carefully in its case, he grabbed one of his silver pistols and answered the door. "Madison? What're you doing here?" Jefferson asked, dropping the gun he had hidden behind the door to his side and stepped aside to let Madison in. 

Madison eyed the gun as he stepped through, "I wanted to talk to you. About our past lives. It's still a little muddled for me."

"Of course," Jefferson said, closing the door and heading the kitchen. "Where do you want to start?" He asked, throwing his gun carelessly on the counter and opening the fridge.

Madison sat on a bar stool and happily received the glass of lemonade that Jefferson poured him. "Let's start from the beginning," he said, "when we met."

***

Hamilton was at the bar. Like he usually was these days. Drowning out his problems only to have to deal with them in the morning when he woke up alone.

"It's like it not even him anymore, you know what I'm saying?" Laurens said suddenly from beside him. They were both drunk and laughing and having a great time. Until something reminded him of Jefferson, then everything went quiet. Lafayette had disappeared to the bathroom a while ago. "Jefferson, I mean," Laurens slurred slightly. Hamilton remained silent so Laurens babbled on. "I mean, the guy's a total dick. I don't even know why you were friends in the first place. But whatever you two were friends for is gone now. You two can barely look at each other without bursting into flames," Laurens finished off his drink and called for another. "He's a complete stranger now. Doesn't know me, doesn't know you, fuck, it's like he died and this Jefferson is just someone who looks like him."

Yeah, and had the same southern drawl that melted Hamilton's resolve the same shit-faced grin, the same love to cook, the same principles, the same everything, just no love for Hamilton.

"Let's face it," Laurens shook his head sadly, "Thomas Jefferson is dead. We've got to move on."

"John!" Lafayette shouted from behind them.

"What?"

"Don't say such awful things! Don't you see what it's doing to Alex?"

Laurens glanced over to Hamilton who was just drinking from a glass. "What? He seems fine, it's not like they were dating or anything. They were just friends."

Lafayette looked at him in disbelief, fumbling for words. "How would you feel if Hamilton was in Jefferson's place?"

"That's different," Laurens mumbled into his glass.

"No. It's not." Lafayette crossed his arms.

Laurens looked at him, confused, then understanding crossed his face. "What?" he whispered breathlessly. He looked at Hamilton, "Alex, you were- you and Jefferson- you-" Laurens shot from his chair, Hamilton took another drink, not moving his gaze from where they'd been focused for the last ten minutes. "I gotta go." Laurens half ran, half stumbled out of the bar.

"I'm sorry, mon ami," Lafayette said gently, a hand on Hamilton's shoulder.

"I've got some work I need to do," Hamilton said, shrugging Lafayette off, picking up his briefcase, and leaving the bar. Walking down the dark roads to Burr's house.

"Alexander?" Burr answered his door, decked in pajamas, a rifle in his hand. Everyone was paranoid these days, weren't they?

"Aaron Burr, sir," Hamilton nodded in greeting.

"It's the middle of the night."

"Can we confer, sir?"

Burr was extremely confused. Hamilton hated him, why was he standing on his doorstep and going through exactly what they had when Hamilton pitched the Constitution to him the first time. "Are you drunk?"

Hamilton ignored the question. "It's a legal matter and important to me."

"No."

"You don't even know-" Hamilton began to protest.

"You're about to ask if I want to help you defend the New Constitution and I'm saying no."

"You made this mistake the first time."

"I might be more inclined to help if you didn't show up shit faced on my doorstep at three a.m." Burr said. Hamilton grumbled. "But the fact is, you're drunk. And if you weren't, you wouldn't be here. Or you would be just to punch me in the face. So go home. Sleep it off. And if you want to still ask me tomorrow, we'll have this discussion then." Burr closed the door in Hamilton's face. The motherfucker. Hamilton turned around and looked at the city. Who else could he go to for support on the Constitution that would still be awake at three in the morning?

***

Madison had gone home an hour ago, leaving Jefferson with nothing to do but pace again. Rather than doing that until he went to bed, he went back to playing that song on the violin. It was driving him crazy, but he couldn't stop. He tossed the violin down on the couch, walked into the kitchen, pulled open a cabinet, grabbed a bottle, and poured a glass. He leaned back against the counter, holding the glass in his hand, head tilted back. Jefferson didn't know what it was that he was feeling, but it felt kinda like stress, exhaustion, and the weight of the world all rolled into one and placed on his shoulders. He took a drink.

There was a knock on the door.

Okay, now Jefferson was suspicious. Two people visiting in one day? He wasn't that popular lately. Plus, there was the fact it was past three in the morning. What was he even doing awake? He thought about ignoring it but when the person knocked again, this time louder and more obnoxiously, Jefferson decided he should just deal with it. Scooping up the pistol he'd thrown on the counter earlier, he made his way to the door. He rested his hand on the handle for a second. The knocks came again, even louder and impatient than before. Jefferson knew he was about to be in a lot of trouble. Who wanted his head now? He swung open the door and had the gun aimed, sure he would have to use it this time. Instead of assassins, he was met with a small, angry man that glared up at him, completely ignoring the gun, not ruffle in the slightest. Actually, he looked like he would've been disappointed if Jefferson had answered the door in any other way.

"Hamilton?" Jefferson said surprised, lowering his gun. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to confer," Hamilton said, taking in Jefferson's appearance. He was dressed in a tank top and sweats. The muscles of his arms were on display, and the shirt was tight enough for Hamilton to be able to see every dip and curve of Jefferson's fit form. Shit.

"What could possibly be important enough for you to come here at three?" Hamilton didn't answer and pushed past Jefferson into the house. Jefferson closed the door and followed him. Hamilton perched on a barstool in the kitchen, placing his briefcase on the counter and popping it open. Jefferson walked around to the other side of the bar and grabbed his drink from where he had set it down and finished it off before pouring himself another glass.

Hamilton looked up, mouth open, ready to start talking one hundred miles a minute, a large stack of papers in his hand but paused before he said anything at Jefferson pouring himself a glass of what could only be whiskey. And he was certainly being generous with the amount. "You don't drink," Hamilton pointed out.

"I do now," Jefferson replied, setting down the bottle.

"Is my presence really that unbearable that I drive you to drinking?" Hamilton asked sharply.

Jefferson snorted. "Please, I was drinking before you even knocked. If you could drive me to drinking, I would have just shot you on my doorstep."

Hamilton snarled and almost threw the packet of papers across the counter to Jefferson. "You could at least pour me a drink as well," Hamilton said.

"Does my presence really drive you to drinking?" Jefferson smirked as he pulled down another glass from the cabinet.

"Yes."

They both took a drink.

Jefferson picked up the stack of papers, "What're these?"

"The New Constitution and a proposal."

"Shit, I'm not reading this when you're right here can just tell me what you're proposing," Jefferson said, tossing the stack back onto the counter. He already knew what the Constitution said, he helped write it.

"A series of essays defending the document to the public."

"But you were against the Constitution," Jefferson said, slightly confused, "Why do you want to defend it?"

"Because it's better than nothing. And nothing is dangerous. If this New Constitution is what we have to work with, then fine. But the public doesn't see it that way, if they don't like it, they'll throw it out the window and we'll either dissolve into separate nations of states or all-out anarchy. The Constitution is better than that."

"You talk a lot."

"Fuck off," Hamilton snapped.

"So why come to me? We don't get along very well. Why not Madison or Burr?"

"Burr wouldn't talk to me because it's three a.m. and I'm drunk. I planned to invite Madison."

"You don't seem drunk," Jefferson observed.

"I told Burr I was perfectly fine, but he wouldn't have it. So I came here. Last option really," Hamilton said. Even if he didn't seem that drunk, he knew he was. He stumbled all the way here and had shown up at Madison's house by mistake. Plus, there was the fact that Hamilton's gaze raked up and down Jefferson's body whenever he wasn't looking. Hamilton had every bit of him memorized, every sensitive area, every spot that would make him scream. He had plenty of time to memorize him while they were still at Monticello. Oh, how Hamilton desperately wished they could rewind and go back there again. Jefferson was looking at him, Hamilton couldn't meet his eyes. Instead, his gaze wandered the room.

"I suppose I could help with this, though I'm surprised you didn't ask someone else. John Jay or even Laurens. Madison will jump on board too, but he probably just got home a little bit ago and is probably sleeping now."

Hamilton's gaze stilled on the couch where Jefferson's violin was sitting as if Jefferson had gotten up to get something and meant to come back for it. "You were playing," Hamilton stated, completely throwing the conversation off track.

"Yes, I was," Jefferson replied.

"What song?" Hamilton's chest was tight.

"Bach," Jefferson lied. For some reason, the song he'd been playing felt personal and Jefferson didn't feel like trying to explain it to Hamilton.

"Ever play a song called the Impossible Duet?" Hamilton asked carefully, his stomach twisting in knots.

"The Impossible what?"

Hamilton was going to throw up. No matter what, that was the one thing both of them remembered, that one song. And Jefferson had no idea what he was talking about. "I can show you," Hamilton said cautiously, shoving down his nausea.

"You play violin?" Jefferson asked, his glass pausing halfway to his lips. Hamilton wanted to kiss those lips.

"Umm, no. I was hoping you had your cello around."

"Oh, no I don't. You play cello?"

Yep, Hamilton was going to be sick. "Yeah, I told you that."

"Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot."

"No shit."

"No need to get hostile. It's not my fault I can't remember," Jefferson said, "It's not like I chose to forget you and Laurens and Mulligan and maybe some other people that can't say because I don't remember. Okay? I'm sorry you got the short end of the stick but there's nothing I can do about it," he said, gripping his glass tightly in an effort to keep himself from snapping.

"Laurens was right," Hamilton said, setting down his glass and closing his case. "Thomas Jefferson died a long time ago." Hamilton stood and looked Jefferson dead in the eye. "I don't know you." Then he walked out the door and was gone. Jefferson spun and hurled his glass at the wall.

Jefferson stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, watching the dark liquid drip.  After a while of just staring at the shattered glass, he grabbed a new one and poured himself another round. He held it up to the empty room. "A toast, to these United Divided States."

**\----**

 


	40. Forgotten Dreams and Nightmares

 

Jefferson woke to an empty bed and the ghost feeling of warm arms wrapped around him. Then they were gone. He sat up and rubbed his face. This was going to be a long day. Every now and then he had strange dreams of him looking for something. Looking and looking but never finding. Sometimes Hamilton was there, reaching out to him, but then there'd be a door. Jefferson didn't know what to think. He was just tired. He had so many nightmares lately and none of them made any sense to him. They were warped and hazy and didn't feel quite right but then again, nightmares tended to be like that anyway.

Well, except the bloody ones that always seemed to be in the greatest of detail.

Breakfast consisted of coffee, which was out of character for him, he always had a full meal to start off the day. Today he just couldn't bring himself to cook so coffee it was. His violin still was where it remained on the couch. It wasn't the one from Monticello, no, this one was just one he'd gotten when he was young. His mother saw him staring at it in a store and bought it for him. The first time he touched it he sawed off the most beautiful melody. His mother was hysterical, calling him a prodigy. But now Jefferson knew that it wasn't because he was a prodigy but because he'd already learned to play in a past life.

He wanted to throw it in the fire.

He didn't have a fire at the moment so he just ignored it, for now, he'd throw it in the closet or something later. His phone pinged, alerting him that he'd received a text. From Madison it seemed, letting him know that Hamilton had already published the first essay they were to be helping him with. Jefferson didn't think Hamilton wanted his help anymore after last night, but the pile of papers that he brought were still on the counter so Jefferson looked through the proposal. It was outlined in great detail exactly what they'd be doing. Twenty-five essays divided evenly among the three men. Well, how that supposed to work? Twenty-five wasn't divisible by three. Hamilton must expect someone to slack off, probably Jefferson.

Yeah right, people forgot that Jefferson was always a writer. He wrote all the time, preferred it to public speaking and just about any other form of communication. As if he'd fall behind. It almost felt like a challenge. Jefferson wasn't going to let Hamilton outwrite him.

Madison said Hamilton wrote the first one already, that meant it was Jefferson's turn. He grabbed the coffee maker and after a moment of thought, grabbed a bottle of wine, and went to his office where he pulled up Hamilton's publication and read it over. Jefferson immediately saw exactly how to pick it apart.

But that's not what he was doing, his job was to write a follow essay addressing the points Hamilton didn't cover and support what Hamilton was saying. That's when Jefferson saw Hamilton had signed it under a pseudonym. Oh hell no. Hell no. He wasn't writing under a pseudonym. He whipped out his phone and called Hamilton.

"What do you want Thomas?" Hamilton asked groggily, Jefferson must've woken him up.

"*I never did in my life, either by myself or by any other, have a sentence of mine inserted in a newspaper without putting my name to it; and I believe I never shall.* And that means I'm not writing these essays under a stupid pseudonym."

He heard Hamilton groan in frustration. Hamilton was famous for his pseudonyms, he wrote under them all the time. Jefferson never did. On rare occasion, he requested his name to be left unknown, but never a pseudonym. "Why not?"

"I've always felt like if I can't put my name on it, then I don't truly believe it."

Hamilton sighed, "Fine, I don't care, put your name on it, just make sure to title it the same and group them together." Then he hung up. Hamilton must've been too tired to argue.

Jefferson went back to work. It was so weird picking apart Hamilton's writing so he could add support to it with his own, bringing up different points and cases that would make the Constitution look even better instead of picking Hamilton's work apart so he could tear it to shreds and disprove every claim.

After going through his work and making sure it was perfect, he published it right along Hamilton's. Then he texted Madison.

_"Published mine, you're up."_

_"What?! We decided to do this like six hours ago! How have you and Hamilton already written and published your essays? Fine, I'll take a look."_

A few minutes later, Jefferson got a follow-up text,  _"Seriously? You know what this is going to turn into? You and Hamilton trying to out-write each other, that's what_ _."_

Jefferson chuckled. Madison was gifted with a pen, he didn't to worry about him keeping up. Well, that's not necessarily true, his health tended to interfere with his writing pace a bit.

***

Madison took his time with his essay, so it left plenty of time for the people to read and pick through Jefferson's and Hamilton's with a fine tooth comb. What was really funny was the fact there were some mentions of bringing Publius and T. J. into this. That's where the people were used to seeing the debates from different sides come from, they trusted their writings, at least the writings of the side they supported. Little did they know the both of them were writing this.

Jefferson paused. How did he know that? How did he know that he always picked apart Hamilton's writing? How did he know that Hamilton was Publius? Hamilton never told him about that, he just said that Hamilton and he had been in a pamphlet war. Why did he remember that and nothing else?

Jefferson pulled at his hair. This was so frustrating! He couldn't remember half his life because Hamilton was always involved somehow, but he could remember some stupid detail that was Hamilton's pseudonym? How was that fair?

Jefferson sighed in defeat, at least it was something. He went back to reading responses and starting formulating an outline for how he would respond depending on Hamilton's next publication.

***

It didn't take long for the people to catch on to their publication schedule. Madison would take a week and then they'd get two more the next day. It was obvious there were three authors and the cries for Publius' and T. J.'s appearance grew louder with each essay. Some people began to speculate that Thomas Jefferson was, in fact, T. J. The initials matched but no one could be absolutely positive without a confession. Most of the people were too busy writing their own responses to really pay attention to T.J. and Thomas Jefferson. How they didn't piece together who Hamilton was a mystery to Jefferson. He could spot Hamilton's writing a mile away just from the unique style he had.

There were lots of complaints about the new form of government, especially since not everyone had supported the war and the destruction of the old one. Those were the people they fought most with.

The funny part was that all three of them, without the other's knowing it, found a quill, a bottle of ink, and some parchment and proceeded to write hard copies of each essay, just as they each had done for the Constitution. Call them old-fashioned.

This went on for weeks on end. It's harder to convince a nation to ratify a new government than one might think. Especially one so divided. Jefferson, Hamilton, and Madison already knew since they'd done it before. Madison was actually wondering if John Jay was somewhere in the world, walking along in blissful ignorance to his past life or if he remembered as well. Was he even alive?

***

Hamilton stood on Jefferson's doorstep with a bunch of papers in hand. He couldn't bring himself to knock. But he had to. Hamilton needed to collaborate with Jefferson on the next publications. He usually did it over the phone or by email, but a week ago his laptop finally gave up on life after years of limping along. He'd been writing his essays on his phone ever since. Until his dropped it in water yesterday, try as he might to save it, it was lost forever. Now he had no way to communicate except by mail or in person and walking over to Jefferson's was faster than the mail system so there he was, hand poised to knock.

He let his hand fall against the door and rapped on it a few times. No response. After a couple more tries he tested the doorknob. It was open. Okay, odd. Jefferson never left his door unlocked anymore. They were both too paranoid. They always locked the doors and they always carried some sort of weapon. Hamilton pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking like an old, cheesy horror movie, and peered inside. Nothing seemed to be amiss. No broken furniture or bloodstains, still, it was suspicious.

Hamilton reached for his knife. Better safe than sorry. He crept through the house, not wanting to call out Jefferson's name in case there was, in fact, someone else in the house. There were only two places Hamilton could think of where Jefferson wouldn't hear Hamilton knocking. One would be his bedroom because he was sleeping, and the other was his office because he'd be lost in his work. The bedroom was upstairs so Hamilton went to check the office first.

He swung open the door.

There sat Jefferson. At his desk. Asleep. His arm was propped up on the desk, supporting his head. His mouth hung ever so slightly open and his thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, slightly askew from his hand resting on them. Hamilton nearly died, it was so cute. The glasses in themselves were nearly too much for Hamilton to handle, he's hardly ever seen Jefferson wearing his glasses and every time it ended with Hamilton kissing him. But this was a whole other level of adorable.

Hamilton stole Jefferson's phone, unlocked it easily seeing as Jefferson never changed the password after he'd lost his memory, took a picture, sent it to his email, and then deleted the picture off Jefferson's phone. Hamilton could get the picture later when he had an electronic device to do so with. Hamilton returned Jefferson's phone and debated on how to wake him up. Hamilton debated screaming or shouting or slamming a door, but Jefferson had PTSD and that would probably set him off, Hamilton knew better than anyone how that felt. So he settled for gently shaking him awake with soft murmurs like he used to do all the times until he didn't anymore.

Jefferson protested weakly by mumbling, "Alexander, no, I've got another hour before I have to make breakfast for you." Hamilton froze. Did he- could he possibly-Only one way to find out. Hamilton gently shook him again. "Alexander, I'm not giving you a morning kiss until it's actually time to get up."

Hamilton immediately backed away and accidentally backed into a table, knocking a picture frame to the floor, which shattered on impact. Jefferson jolted awake, hitting his knee on the desk. "Fuck! That hurt!" He looked over at Hamilton, "Hamilton? What're you doing here? Why are you in my office?"

Hamilton rushed forward and grabbed Jefferson's face, holding it between his two hands. Jefferson tried to recoil, but Hamilton already caught him and his grip too tight. "What were you dreaming off?" he demanded.

"What're you doing? Let go of me!"

"Thomas, tell me, what were you dreaming of?"

"Relinquish me!" Jefferson grabbed Hamilton's wrists to pry them off but Hamilton just dug his fingers into Jefferson's hair so it'd be next to impossible.

"I will if you tell me what you were dreaming! Quickly, before you forget! It's important!"

Jefferson looked into Hamilton's eyes, thinking of his dream. "I was dreaming of-" Jefferson was thinking hard, trying to remember exactly what he'd been dreaming about.

"Remember," Hamilton commanded.

"Get your hands out of my hair and I might be able to think straight," Jefferson snapped, this time successfully freeing himself of Hamilton's hands. Hamilton let go and backed away.

Jefferson stood from his chair and leaned against a wall, arms crossing over his chest defensively. "Well? What were you dreaming?" Hamilton pushed.

Jefferson screwed his eyes shut. "There was grass...and trees...lots of trees. I was walking out of Monticello, there was someone leading me somewhere. It was still dark outside...Then they dragged me by the hand around a corner...and I saw something...I saw a...I saw a horse. It was a horse. Two horses. There were two... Then I grabbed the person, shoved them up against a wall and-" Jefferson's eyes snapped open and pushed himself off the wall, his face flushing red, his gaze fixed on Hamilton. "It was you," Jefferson stated. "It was you that I pinned against the wall." His face flushed even more.

Hamilton knew Jefferson remembered exactly what he did to Hamilton against that wall too. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or throw up, so he settled for stunned silence. Jefferson's gaze raked down Hamilton's body and back up again, no doubt remembering how Hamilton felt against him. Hamilton felt his face flush as well.

"Well," Hamilton broke the silence, "I came to go over the essays with you, but we can, ah, do it some other time." Hamilton made for the door.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hamilton. You're here now, let's get it over with."

Great. A nice, awkward chat about the Constitution that neither of them is actually thinking about and instead have their thoughts turned toward that dream. "Fine."

Hamilton returned to the desk and dropped his stack of papers in front of Jefferson who picked it up, ran his hands over it and looked at Hamilton. "This is parchment and written by a quill," he stated it as a fact.

"Umm, yeah. I prefer them."

"Me too." Jefferson set the papers down and they both took a seat. "I actually wanted to talk to you about revealing Publius and T. J, not that mine was ever a secret, but if I confirm mine, it'll pretty much give away yours. I texted you but you wouldn't reply."

"Yeah, I dropped my phone in some water. Kinda why I'm here right now."

"How'd you get in any way?"

"You left your door unlocked."

"No, I didn't." They both stared at each other. Someone was in the house. "No, wait, I ordered pizza and forgot to lock it again because my hands were full."

"Oh, okay. Wait, you ordered pizza? You never order pizza. You make your own pizza." That's when Hamilton noticed the coffee pot and the bottles of wine on Jefferson's desk. "How long had this been going on?" Hamilton asked.

"What?"

"This," Hamilton gestured to the desk.

"Oh. I dunno. Since we started the essays?"

"Who are you?" Hamilton asked.

"Can we just discuss the Publius thing?"

"No." Hamilton got up and walked around the desk so he was standing over Jefferson. "This isn't you. None of it is. You don't drink often and definitely not excessively."

Jefferson stood as well so he was towering over Hamilton. Hamilton's eyes were fiery and defiant as he stared up at him, daring Jefferson to push back, to fight, to argue, almost begging for it. "So what? Weren't you saying I'm not Thomas Jefferson anymore?"

"That doesn't mean your morals changed! Your core principles!" Hamilton half shouted. "What is this? What is this really? What's going on really?"

"Nothing," Jefferson lied. "Look, can we please just settle the pseudonyms?"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong with you." Hamilton crossed his arms.

"Fine, then I'm going to bed," Jefferson said, brushing past Hamilton and walking out of the office, "Lock the door behind you when you leave," he called over his shoulder.

Hamilton looked at the empty wine bottles on the desk. At least it wasn't whiskey like that night. His heart bled for what had become of Jefferson, Hamilton still loved him. The memory of him.  _His_ Jefferson, not this ghost of one. He didn't know who this Jefferson was.

Hamilton left without another word. If Jefferson wanted to fuck up his life, then fine, Hamilton wasn't going to stop him.

Jefferson heard the door close as Hamilton left. He stood alone in his room. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit. Dark bags under his eyes, clothes a mess, slumped posture. Jefferson stepped up closer to the mirror. "You want to know what's wrong?" he asked his reflection, "I can't remember half of my fucking life! I can't remember people that were apparently all that mattered to me! I can't remember my friends! I can't remember everything I stood for! All I can remember is the feeling of pain and misery! I can feel this big hole in my chest and I can't do anything about it!" His fist slammed into the glass, shattering it and cutting open his hand. "I'm drowning. I can't breathe. I'm drowning and no one can help me. I can't scream. I can't yell. Because if I do then, then I'm broken and if there's one thing I can remember, it's that I can't break because then they win. They win if I break."

Blood dripped down Jefferson's hand and soaked into the carpet as he stared at the broken pieces of glass on the floor. He didn't care. Jefferson laid down across on his bed sideways, his long legs sticking out into the air, his face buried in the soft blankets. He wished Hamilton stayed. Wished he stayed so Jefferson could bicker with him and distract himself from everything else in his life. He could keep together as long as Hamilton was around.

Who was he? Who was Thomas Jefferson?

He was a broken man.

**\----**


	41. Something Wrong

 

Hamilton wasn't doing any better than Jefferson. Jefferson may not remember half his life, but Hamilton could remember all of it and the most important part of it had been ripped away and is now dangled in front of him every day and he can't catch it. It always dances away or turns into smoke that just slides through his fingers. Every time he saw Jefferson, heard his thick southern accent, saw his famous grin, Hamilton's heart would soar and then plummet back down as soon as he remembered Jefferson wasn't smiling for him, Jefferson didn't even know him.

And even worse, Hamilton didn't try to help him. He just told Jefferson everything he needed to know and then took off. Abandoned Jefferson to deal with his memory loss alone while Hamilton grieved the death of someone who was still very much alive. The guilt ate him up while he convinced himself he didn't care. Jefferson didn't know him. Jefferson didn't need him. 

Jefferson didn't want him.

Jefferson had told Hamilton once that he would never forget Hamilton, not even after two hundred years. Yet here they were, strangers. Worse than strangers, they were back to being enemies again. But that look in Jefferson's eyes when he looked Hamilton up and down after remembering his dream, it looked almost like Jefferson wanted to be that close again. For a split second, he looked like Hamilton's Jefferson again.

No, not quite like that, but close. It was close. 

Jefferson wasn't the only one suffering from sleep deprivation. Hamilton couldn't even sleep in a bed anymore, because then every morning when he woke up alone, he'd be yanked back to the days in Monticello when he wandered the hall aimlessly after Jefferson died, wishing he was dead.

The nightmares were worse.

So Hamilton slept in his office, mostly because his body just shuts off when it couldn't handle anymore. But at least he was getting his work done. That was always a plus. The essays ended up being way more work than he thought, not that he minded. Jefferson didn't seem to care either, he kept right on pace with Hamilton. Madison slowly tapered off, saying that Hamilton should write the next one instead of him but in reality, he was manipulating them into getting closer again. Not that anyone realized that's what he was doing. It just kept happening more and more often until it was just Jefferson and Hamilton going back and forth.  Madison could keep up if he wanted, but it was good for Jefferson and Hamilton, so he stepped back. He never liked the spotlight anyway.

The people were eating it up. At first, they were skeptical, but they knew and trusted Jefferson as a rebel leader. They were asking what Hamilton's thoughts were but he ignored them. They shouted for T. J. and Publius to weigh in since they were the nation's number one view on government since they'd been arguing about it before the war even started. But they were mysteriously missing in action. When the shouts turned into screams Hamilton and Jefferson finally agreed it was time. The people knew the publishing order, and when it changed after Madison, they memorized the new one. Two a day, one by Hamilton's pseudonym and one by Jefferson. So when the next day's were published and Hamilton's was signed Publius and Jefferson's signed T. J. the people went crazy. They had mostly expected T. J. by that point since it matched Jefferson's initials and aligned with the political views of both, but they certainly never expected Publius to be on board. They were so shocked that a lot of people were in disbelief, saying that Publius wrote his own pamphlet to add in. But those claims were quickly squashed. Then the people started screaming to know their true identities. Well, Hamilton's and Madison's. Everyone knew Jefferson's.

The Constitution suddenly had massive support so when the vote came, it was easily accepted and ratified, unlike the first time they went through this process in 1787. So Jefferson, Hamilton, and Madison made their final essay, written by all three of them. Jefferson convinced Hamilton and Madison to sign it with their real names to show that they truly believed in what they were saying. Madison agreed but Hamilton hesitated. The New Constitution was a step in the right direction, but it could be better, bigger. But eventually, he signed his name too.

When the people read it the next day, it was like the entire nation was running around fangirling all at once. Hamilton and Jefferson, the two greatest idols of the Revolution were T. J. and Publius, the two that bickered and fought over everything had come together to write these essays. Madison was mostly smiling from the sidelines. He wasn't nearly as famous, but he did get lots of recognition for his work. In the end, they wrote eighty-five essays in the span of six months. James Madison wrote ten. Hamilton and Jefferson each wrote thirty-seven and the last one being written by all of them.

Doing this also earned them a lot of enemies who were still loyal to the Old Government. King George had mysteriously disappeared. But they would worry about that later. For now, they were celebrating with the rest of their friends. Well, Hamilton and Madison were, Jefferson didn't show up. 

"Screw him," Laurens said impatiently, "If he doesn't want to celebrate the ratification of his own Constitution, if he doesn't want to celebrate the birth of a new nation out of the ashes of old one, then screw him."

Madison and Lafayette shared a look. They knew. They actually visited on a regular basis. "I'm sure he has his reasons for not showing up," Lafayette said. Madison, Lafayette, Hamilton, Peggy, Angelica, Eliza, Mulligan, Burr, and Laurens were all sitting around a table at a tavern,  food stacked high and full mugs.

"It doesn't really matter, does it? We're all here. The entire group. Everyone except him. Why isn't he here?" Peggy asked. 

"Be-" Madison was cut off.

"Yeah, he's been fighting for this almost all his life and now that it's finally here, he doesn't even bother to show up," Angelica added on.

"Well-" Madison tried again.

"I think it's kinda weird. There's something going on here that we don't know about," Eliza said.

"Ladies, if you'd listen for a second, I would tell you," Madison said, finally getting their attention. "Jefferson h-"

"Hey everyone," a voice said from behind them. 

"Jefferson!" Peggy squealed, leaping to her feet and hug tackling him. 

"Jefferson! Glad you showed!" Angelica lifted her mug.

"Glad you're here," Eliza smiled.

Jefferson looked over her shoulder to Madison who stood and pulled Peggy back by her shoulder, "Uh, Jefferson, this is Peggy Schuyler," he said gesturing to her, "And that's Eliza and Angelica, her sisters. Angelica and Peggy fought by your side in the war on some suicide missions."

Angelica's mug slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor, spilling everywhere, Eliza stared, and Peggy looked confused. "Why are you introducing us?" Peggy asked.

"Jefferson was in the explosion of a rocket in the last battle. He's lost a lot of his memory as a result. Not many people know and we're trying to keep it that way," Madison explained.

Jefferson smiled politely, looking at the new faces that he was supposed to already know. Peggy fell back into her seat, Madison and Jefferson sat down as well. "Well, I'm glad that you're here with us," Angelica said.

Jefferson smiled warmly, "I apologize for being so late. I got held up."

"Traffic?" Eliza guessed.

"Something like that," Jefferson dodged. He didn't feel like explaining himself to a bunch of strangers. Madison and Lafayette knew. Hamilton's been mostly ignoring him lately. Jefferson really didn't want to be here, the only people that seemed to really wanted him there was Madison and Lafayette, and maybe the sisters, but he couldn't remember them.

Awkward silence fell. Well shit. This was exactly what Jefferson wanted to avoid. "So, uh," Jefferson coughed, "Which of you three did I meet first?" Jefferson asked, trying to get the conversation flowing easily again.

"That would be me," Angelica said. "I was attending the rally with Peggy and Eliza when you two walked up on the stage, big as life and as flashy as ever. Great entrance by the way. And Hamilton, you dragging Seabury has to be one of my favorite things. Anyway, then Jefferson, you tackled Hamilton to the floor right as a rocket exploded on stage. By the time you two managed to get your feet, a whole bunch of us formed a protective circle around you guys which you were not happy about in the slightest. You-"

"That's where I met Lafayette and picked Burr up so Hamilton and I could squeeze by....yes I remember. I spoke to you too," Jefferson said, thinking hard. Hamilton studied Jefferson closely.

"Yep!" Angelica said happily, "Do you remember what happened next?"

Jefferson thought hard for a moment, the shook his head. "No, no I can't remember."

"Ah, well. You two freed from your circle shouted about grabbing machine guns and rockets launchers to go steal a tank. Well, naturally, Madison, Laurens, Mulligan, Burr, Lafayette, and I all followed."

"We stole a tank? Oh! Right! Mulligan said that's how we met when I first woke up."

"Oh yeah," Mulligan weighed in, "You handed out grenades like candy, Hamilton laid out the plan. Angelica got her hands on molotavs, Burr gave up on hitting anything with his gun and just started chucking grenades. You saved Hamilton's and Laurens' life with a well-placed sniper shot, Lafayette went crazy with the rocket launcher, and I mowed people down with the machine gun."

"And then," Laurens laughed, "Hamilton and I drove down the highway with the tank and told the hotel valet to park it for us."

"Good memories," Lafayette laughed.

Jefferson smiled sadly, though he quickly turned it into a happy one so no one would notice. "Someone get Jefferson a drink!" Mulligan shouted.

"I'm not so sure that a good idea-" Hamilton began, speaking for the first time that night.

"Nonsense," Laurens cut in, "We're celebrating tonight! Another round!" Laurens shouted to the bartender.

A mug was shoved into Jefferson's hands and everyone around him drank. As much as Jefferson wanted to join, he only took a small sip and then pushed it aside, knowing Hamilton was watching his every move like a hawk.

Hamilton was. His was constantly watching Jefferson out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out exactly what was wrong with him. Something happened recently that no one knew about except Lafayette and Madison. He could tell by the way they had exchanged glances every time someone said something about Jefferson not showing and the surprise they shared when Jefferson actually did. Hamilton was going to find out what it was.

Jefferson hardly took a sip from his mug. Why? Last time Hamilton saw him, he'd been draining wine bottles daily and maybe others that Hamilton hadn't seen. Who knew what Jefferson's bed looked like if his office was that bad. But tonight, he hardly touched it, his hands rested on the mug like he was participating like normal, but it hardly ever went to his mouth. What had changed?

"After I put all your soldiers to shame, you requested me for a suicide mission," Peggy was saying. "Together, we all blew up a Governmental command post and save the entire rebel army."

"Really?" Jefferson asked. "Why was I always signing up for these suicide missions anyway?"

Silence. Everyone looked to Hamilton for the answer. He slowly set down his mug. "You know, you also got hit by the explosion of a tank round on that mission too," he answered, completely ignoring the question. That was something that didn't need to be talked about while they were celebrating their freedom.

"It seems I'm a magnet for flying explosives," Jefferson laughed.

"That, or you just really piss people off," Burr said smiling.

"My bet's on the latter. I'd know," Hamilton laughed.

Jefferson relaxed slightly. Everyone was loosening up.

***

"Hey Peggy," Hamilton said, rounding on her and almost falling out of his chair, "Jefferson's got these mean pair of pistols that you would kill for."

"Oh really?" Peggy asked, rounding on Jefferson. "Do I get to see these legendary pistols?"

"Absolutely not," Jefferson laughed. "I like my head where it is and I'm sure if I showed them to you, I'd lose it."

"That's true," Angelica laughed. "Don't let Peggy around pistols."

"I'm more of a single pistol gal anyway," she sighed. "Not much of a dual wielder."

"Oh you should see the way Jefferson can wield those two pistols," Hamilton said, his words ever so slightly slurred and his face flushed from the alcohol. "He's like a god. Like an ethereal image of grace, elegance, speed, and death all wrapped up in a package of muscle and glory. Seriously," Hamilton went on, "you can't see him draw even if you're watching for it."

"Reeaally?" Peggy asked, her words drawn out and slow, looking over at Jefferson.

Everybody was completely drunk. Everyone except Jefferson, who'd been avoiding drinking the entire time. However, he was starting to enjoy everyone else talk about the weirdest things. But when Hamilton said that, Jefferson couldn't help but take a good gulp out of his mug. Madison was doubled over from a fit of half coughing and half laughter, clinging on Jefferson for support. Jefferson could feel the blush creep across his cheeks at Hamilton's comment. "I think you're over exaggerating," Jefferson said mildly.

"As the only person who has seen you dual wield, since you can't see yourself, I can tell you with 100% accuracy, my description is spot on," Hamilton replied.

"Okay, that's enough for you," Burr leaned over and snatched Hamilton's mug.

"Hey!" Hamilton yelled, trying to swipe it back, "I wasn't done with that!"

"Well, you are now," Burr said, sliding it across the table to Jefferson. In one fluid motion, Jefferson grabbed it and placed it on a tray as a waiter walked by.

Hamilton complained loudly as the whole group laughed at him. "That's not fair. You two ganged up on me."

"Poor thing," Eliza crooned.

Eventually, everyone began to stagger home. Some literally staggering home and other hailing a cab. Jefferson remained at the table, only him, Madison, Hamilton, and Lafayette remained. Madison and Lafayette were standing to leave, looking to Jefferson to see if he was coming. He waved them to go ahead, he'd be leaving in a minute. After the two disappeared out the door, Jefferson stood up as well, about to bid Hamilton farewell and leave.

"My mission this entire night was to figure out what was wrong with you," Hamilton said suddenly.

Shit. Well, this was going to be fun. A drunk Hamilton on a mission. This could only go well. "Has it now?" Jefferson said nonchalantly.

"Yep," Hamilton smacked his lips, "and I'm not any closer than I was at the beginning of the night."

"Is that so?" Jefferson asked, pulling on his coat. "Maybe because there's nothing wrong with me."

Hamilton stood from his chair and followed Jefferson as he made his way out of the bar. "Then why did you show up so late?"

"Traffic was hell."

Hamilton looked around dramatically as they walked down the sidewalk. "Really? Where's your car?" His question was met with silence. "There's no traffic in walking, Thomas."

"Sure there is. I had to wait like five minutes at every crosswalk."

"You're lying." They continued walking in silence until Hamilton started talking again. "Why didn't you drink tonight?"

"I did."

"Not very much. Not nearly as much as you have been. What happened?"

"I stopped."

"Why?" Hamilton pressed.

"Shit, Hamilton, there doesn't have to be a reason."

"With you, there's always a reason."

Jefferson subconsciously sped up his walking pace. "Hamilton, I'm not having this conversation with you. Especially when you're drunk."

Hamilton shrugged. "If we have it now, there's less of a chance I'll remember."

"Then you'd hunt me down again. Just let it go, Hamilton, I don't need you mothering me."

"No, but you need someone to ground you and that's always been my job."

Jefferson's house wasn't far now, just a little bit further. "Piss poor job of it then," Jefferson mumbled. "Look, there's no reason. Just leave it be," Jefferson ground his teeth.

"I wouldn't be bothering you so much if there wasn't a reason."

They were on the sidewalk in front of Jefferson's house. "Fucking Christ, Hamilton, leave it alone, I don't need you to pour my poor little heart out to."

"I've always been here for you."

"Oh?" Jefferson spun on his heel and faced Hamilton. "Really? See, I didn't know that because despite how close you say we are, the moment I woke up, confused and lost, you took off. You up and ran without so much as a hello or an explanation." Jefferson stalked up to his front door and slid the key into the lock.

"Not true! I came over the next morning and told you everything!"

Jefferson faced Hamilton again, forgetting entirely about opening the door. "Then vanished! Vanished into the air like a magic trick. Where were you whenever Lafayette tried to set something up? Did you even stop to think maybe me spending time with you might help me remember? The next time you talked to me was weeks later when I found you at Independence Hall. You said two sentences to me before walking off like I was a beggar you couldn't waste your time with. You only bother with me when I remember some useless tidbit that gets me nowhere."

Hamilton mounted the steps and stood in front of Jefferson so he was only a head shorter and not three. "That's because I can't stand to see what we lost! And we've lost so much! So much you don't even know!"

"I do know! That's the problem, Alexander! I do know what we've lost, I can feel it, I just can't remember specifics, I can't remember what it was, what it looked liked, sounded like, but I do remember what it felt like because I can feel it's absence. I've got this gaping hole in my chest and I can feel it. Every day. It's driving me out of my mind. I'm out of my mind and I can't-"

Hamilton grabbed Jefferson by his lapels and shoved him against the door, crashing his lips roughly, desperately, against Jefferson's. Jefferson went rigid and gently pushed Hamilton away. "You're drunk, Hamilton. Go home." Jefferson turned the key, went inside and shut the door in Hamilton's face. 

Fuck. He screwed up.

He fucked up and he still didn't know what was wrong with Jefferson or how to help him. If anything, Hamilton made everything worse. He cussed himself out all the way down the street.

There was only one way he was going to get answers.

**\----**

 


	42. Voluntold Candidates

 

Madison was rudely woken up by a pounding on his door that his head decided to mimic. He may have had a little too much last night. The pounding came again and Madison knew it wasn't going to stop until he answered the door. Achingly slow, he crawled out of bed and answered the door.

Fuck. He went to shut the door but Hamilton's hand stopped it. Madison didn't even try to close him out but left it open and walked back into the house, going to make himself some coffee. Hamilton let himself in and closed the door behind him.

"Madison, I need to talk to you."

"Coffee," was all Madison said.

Hamilton sighed and waited until Madison was drinking his coffee, if anyone understood to need of coffee, it was Hamilton. Madison finally gestured for Hamilton to continue.

"It's afternoon, Madison. Why are you just getting up?"

Madison groaned, he hadn't meant to sleep in that late, he had to go check in on Jefferson. "Why are you here, Hamilton? Couldn't you just have called? You got a new phone, didn't you?" he asked. His head was killing him and now he had to find his phone to text Jefferson.

"I need you to tell me what happened to Jefferson." The sentence in itself was self-explanatory. This wasn't something to be discussed over the phone.

Madison froze. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated. Madison had hesitated. Hamilton was right, something was up and Madison knew about it. "You know what I mean. Something happened to Jefferson and I need to know."

"What's it matter to you? It's not like you hang out with him anymore." Madison looked around for his phone.

"Because I-" Hamilton stopped short. "Because it's obvious and he's my friend."

"It's not for me to tell," Madison said, spotting his phone on the couch.

"Well, Jefferson's not going to share because he doesn't know me so I need you to tell me."

"He doesn't know you because you didn't bother sticking around and helping him with his memory loss. Maybe if you put more of an effort into being there for your friend, he might be more willing to share." Madison walked over and grabbed his phone.

"For fuck's sake, please, I'm just trying to help."

Madison looked at him, "Why should I tell you?"

"Because-" shit. Hamilton couldn't say it.

"Well?"

"Because I love him, okay? Are you happy now?" Madison looked at Hamilton. It was so glaringly obvious. "You knew?" Hamilton asked.

Madison snorted. "Of course I knew. I'm not blind and with you two making love eyes at each other all the time. Why would Thomas leave Monticello to you if he didn't?"

"Okay, I suppose those are some valid points, but no one else realized it."

"I may also still have his journal from our past lives."

"What?"

Madison shrugged. "No idea. I read it when I was a kid. It was in my family's library. I found and kept it. It's still in great condition."

"You have to give it to me."

"No, I don't."

"Madison-"

"The journal or what happened to Thomas. You get one."

"That's not fair."

"I don't care. I shouldn't even give you the option of either. Now choose."

"But-"

"I don't have time for your shit. If you don't make a choice in the next ten seconds, you lose both."

After about eight, Hamilton finally sighed, "What happened to Thomas?" It's what was important right now, as much as Hamilton was dying to read Jefferson's personal journal.  
  


Madison sat down and gestured for Hamilton to sit as well. "It was couple nights ago. He wasn't answering his phone, he always answers his phone. So I went over, let myself in with the key he gave me. The house seemed empty so I was about to leave when I heard glass shatter. I know you and Jefferson are still targeted by people, so I was immediately on high alert. I walked into his bedroom and saw something I never expected. Jefferson was sitting at the foot of his bed, entire posture lax and uncaring, empty bottles of alcohol were all over the room and a full one in his hand. I was in shock. Then I saw the gleaming silver gun in his other hand. He looked up at me and said, "Nice of you to join the party." I asked what he was doing he just shrugged and said, "Drinking and contemplating death. Do you think it's better? I was about to see if I could find out." Hamilton, he got so close. I guess something I said struck a cord, because he tossed the gun on the floor, got up, handed me his bottle, and went to sleep. I called Lafayette to see if he knew what to do. I stayed there to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. The next day, he woke up, cleaned everything that I hadn't gotten to yet, and just seemed to have snapped back to himself. A sad, depressed version, but he was himself. He threw out all the alcohol that I missed except like one bottle of wine or something. That was the day of the celebration. I came from his house to it after I was sure he'd be okay. I was only planning to stay for a bit and go back, but he showed up."

"Fuck," Hamilton whispered, "I didn't know he was that bad."

"I don't think any of us did." Madison looked at his phone and sent off a text.

Hamilton's thoughts turned inward, remembering the moment he found out Jefferson didn't know him, how he ran out and into an alleyway and contemplated the same exact thing. Their lives weren't supposed to be this way. "Thanks, Madison. I gotta go." Hamilton walked out the door before anything else could be said.

***

_Hamilton knows._

Damn.

Jefferson's eyes darted over Madison's text again. Hamilton just didn't give up, did he? If he didn't get what he wanted one way, he'd manage to get it through another. Jefferson was in the office at his house, reclining in the comfy chair, feet up on the desk.

Jefferson was actually kinda impressed. Determination was a trait he strongly admired.

Now that the Constitution was written and finally ratified. They were officially out of an oligarchy and were a republic once again. A stronger, better republic. Jefferson was proud. Now all that was left to do was to get it up and running, starting with the presidential elections. Bets were going around, Madison, Hamilton, Lafayette, Burr and himself all had their bets placed on Washington and Adams as the first presidents. The rest of the group wasn't so sure.

But Jefferson and those who remembered knew that history was repeating itself, there was only one way the elections could turn out. And that was with Washington and Adams leading the nation. Luckily, France didn't seem to be delving into their own revolution. Now if they could just avoid a world war, they'd be all set. Then Jefferson could go back to the quiet life he always wanted, doing-

Jefferson's phone slipped out of his hands and thudded onto the floor. Doing what? He stared at it blankly.

What did he use to do? He couldn't remember. He started to panic slightly, he planted his feet on the floor and held his head in his hands. What did he use to do? What were his hobbies? His interests? How did he always dream of spending his time when he wasn't knee deep in national turmoil? Surely he enjoyed doing something in his downtime.

Reading. He loved to read. But that was obvious and he wasn't going to be able to read for the rest of his life, even if he loved it so much. There was writing, but what would there be to write about after all this smoothed out? What else?

He couldn't remember.

He bent down and scooped up his phone and scrolled through his contacts. Who would know? Who could he ask? Madison. Madison would know. Jefferson's thumb hovered over Madison's name, then, in a split-second decision, he scrolled up and punched Hamilton's name instead.

Hamilton's reply was almost immediate, which was scary, considering it's length.

_Gardening. You loved to garden. You used to have this massive garden at Monticello where you'd sit, digging through the dirt, sweat glistening on your skin as the hot Virginia sun beat at you with its sweltering heat. You planted all sorts of things. Flowers, vines, leafy greens, vegetables, bushes, anything you could think of. You would have Lafayette send you plants from France to plant in your garden and you collected rare species that was unknown to Virginia soil. You loved that garden._

_You also loved architecture. You designed Monticello. Countless times in fact. You would tear it down and then rebuild it all over again to get it just right. You also designed the Virginia State Capital, along with several other things._

Hamilton just kept sending paragraph after paragraph.

 _Astronomy. You used to drag me out of my office in the middle of the night saying, "_ If you're not coming to bed then you're at least going to stay awake with me and watch the stars."  _I'd always complain. You loved charting them. In fact, when you sent Lewis and Clark off on their expedition, you specifically told them to chart and study the stars on their travels._

_You were an inventor. Always fiddling with things and trying to make things better. The swivel chair seems to still be popular. You also introduced macaroni to america, a dish I personally think the we were better without, but whatever. You should've left that in France. The iron plow. That was life changing for farmers everywhere who used wood ones that didn't work well and made erosion a problem for crops. You also invented the dumbwaiter. You know, those little tiny elevators that are used to deliver food but are typically shown in movies as a place the kids crawl into. The pedometer, that thing that tracks how far you walk. And the wheel cipher to code messages with. Just to name a few. Your mind was always ticking away at the oddest things._

_You also used to keep mockingbirds. You were particularly attached to one you named Dick. You let him fly around the presidential cabinet and perch on your shoulder. I could never keep it together whenever you said, and I quote, "I love Dick," because no else got the double meaning._

_Of course, there was reading, writing, and violin playing. You also played cello. You were an obsessive book collector. Your collection reached over six thousand novels, six thousand four hundred and eighty-seven to be exact. I counted. As did you. In fact, one of us counted wrong and we bickered over it. The Library of Congress bought them all to replace what had been burned by the British in the war of 1812. You also went fossil hunting, you discovered a prehistoric sloth that was named in your honor._

_You loved to take long walks and horseback rides. You'd go fishing all the time and bring it back to cook. You never let me cook because you enjoyed it so much and plus the added fact that I'd burn the house down. We used to joke that it'd give you an excuse to remodel._

_You hated to be stagnate. You always had to be doing something. You just tended to prefer it to be your home life and not politics, but you deemed the nation more important._

Jefferson didn't realize he did so much.  _Thanks, Hamilton, that really helped._

_Anytime._

Jefferson set his phone aside and looked around the room. He couldn't garden here, there was no soil and he didn't want to get potted plants. That just felt like cheating, plus, he didn't want to stay in New York much longer than he had to. There was no green unless he went looking for it. Just city. He couldn't do astronomy because it was day. His thoughts were cut off when his phone rang.

"Hamilton? What-"

"Thomas, look out your window at the street and tell me what you see," Hamilton said quickly.

"That's a weird reason to call me," Jefferson said, standing, "couldn't you just have texted me?"

"Just do it."

"Hold your horses, I'm getting there."

"Hurry up."

Jefferson pulled back the second-floor curtains and looked down at the street. "Holy shit," he breathed.

"I know. It's the same outside my hotel."

A sea of people covered the street below like ants on a soda can. They were waving signs and shouting things that Jefferson couldn't quite make out due to the thick glass of his windows and his poor vision. Jefferson retrieved his glasses and pushed open his window. The signs they were waving mostly said, " _Jefferson 4 President!"_  or " _Jefferson has my vote!"_ A couple people saw him in the window and immediately started pointing, shouting, and waving. Soon the entire street was cheering like a crashing wave. Jefferson waved back which only earned him more screams.

"Well, fuck, they saw me. Now I gotta go talk to them," Jefferson said, ducking back out of the window.

"Way ahead of ya," Hamilton said, "I'm in the elevator."

"We're going to get trampled."

"Say you gotta go meet with someone else important. Madison, Washington, Lafayette. I dunno. Escape plan."

"Good idea. Gotta go." Jefferson hung up his phone, pulled on his most favorite and flashiest coat swung open the door, and stepped outside.

***

Madison was at home, sitting on the couch, a blanket over his lap, a bowl of soup in his hand, and the t.v. remote in the other, nursing another cold. He was flipping through the channels when he stopped on one.

"I'm currently standing outside Jefferson's door at the edge of this unruly mob," said the newswoman. "I'm starting to wonder if they're going to break down the door. How are things on your end, Jim?"

"Over here is not much different, Katie. The street to Hamilton's hotel is jam-packed with fans cheering him on for the upcoming elections," Jim answered, the screen splitting in two to show them both. There was a sudden commotion on Katie's screen.

"Jefferson has appeared in the window and is waving to his fans. He seems to be on the phone with someone," Katie reported, the camera zooming in on Jefferson's face. He disappeared a moment later, the crowd saddening.

"There's been no appearance from Hamilton as of yet. I've heard reports that there are crowds outside every general that served the rebel cause in the war, though none quite to the degree of these crowds out here today. It seems all of New York is out showing their support for their candidates. Washington-" The cheers of the crowds from both screen cut him off, both reporters spun to see Jefferson and Hamilton emerge simultaneously from their buildings. The reporters started frantically shoving their way to the front.

"Jefferson, tell us what you're thinking right now as a candidate in the first election of the new republic you help fight for and create!" Katie the Reporter shouted, elbowing someone in the face.

Jefferson laughed and ruffled his hair, causing several girls to swoon. "I hadn't realized I was one."

"Well Holy Mother Mary," Madison breathed.

**\----**


	43. Wardrobe Choices

 

Did you know that helping start a rebellion, dying, coming back to life in the flashiest way possible at a rebel rally, restarting the rebellion, fighting in the rebellion, leading the rebellion, being the main reason to have won the rebellion, being the overall public face of the rebellion, helping make the new nation, and framing freedom for the people would get you placed on the presidential ballot without anyone even asking you? Because Jefferson didn't. Well... he actually kinda did, but he didn't give it much thought. Not that he had to worry. George Washington and John Adams would be president, but that still left the places for four vice presidents open. Jefferson did worry about that. He'd either be thrown into vice presidency or onto another cabinet, both of which he didn't ever want to be a part of again. Jefferson hated politics.

But he was just so God damn good at it.

He had the charm, the popularity, the background, the hair. He had it all.

If it was up to him, he'd be in Monticello, piddling away til his heart's content. But the people never let him have his way and he'd always put the nation first. The nation was always first and foremost.

Rain was pounding against the window panes as Jefferson plucked at his violin's strings, staring ahead absentmindedly, his vision unfocused and blurry. The flames of the fireplace lit the otherwise dark house. They were comforting, soothing even, it felt like there were countless good memories in their warmth. Then it was a different rain that was thundering against the ground and a different fire that crackled nearby. The room became a cave and instead of a violin being on Jefferson's lap, it was Hamilton's head as he was sleeping soundly, Jefferson stroking his hair.

The memory quickly faded away as Jefferson jolted, springing up from the couch and twisting around the room, looking for any remnant of the memory clinging to his living room. There was none. But it was still fresh in his mind like he just lived it. He could still feel Hamilton's warmth. Jefferson's mind suddenly jumped to one of the other few memories he possessed of Hamilton. One where Jefferson had him pinned against the wall of Monticello, their hot bodies pressed together, how Jefferson had ached for him, how their mouths clashed together in fiery passion. The need that had burned through every inch of Jefferson's body. The pain he felt when he pulled away, taking every bit of his self-control to do so. How that sensation felt as if he was living it at that very moment when Hamilton stood before him in his office the day he remembered.

He shook both memories from his head and fished out his phone from his back pocket, sending a text to Hamilton for him to elaborate on the fuzzy memory he just remembered. As always, Hamilton's response was immediate, giving the details that his original recounting of the story lacked. Jefferson could feel the fuzziness of the dream sharpen slightly at each word but couldn't remember anything else.

***

Hamilton and the crew sat at the local pub where they always met up at on Saturdays. They had to go through extraordinary lengths to keep the paparazzi from finding them out and the owner of the place was kind enough to lend them a back room so the locals wouldn't bother them. With the help of Jefferson's coin of course. Nothing in the world was free after all. People were still untrustful, it was survival of the fittest, a mind frame that the oppressiveness of King George III and his associates rule imposed on most of the Eastern States of America. One that Jefferson hoped to reverse with the new governmental system they created. He missed the days where anyone was willing to take in a stranger, feed them a warm meal and a soft bed for the night without having to worry about waking up to find they'd been robbed or never wake up at all.

But for now, Hamilton, Jefferson, and all the rest were sitting around the table, having a good time. Jefferson was enjoying a little bit of wine while everyone else was chugging down various stronger types of alcohol.

"Who knew you two would be placed on the presidential ballot? I never saw that coming," Madison said.

"Me neither but now I can hardly walk out my door with how many people are constantly outside. I'll have to move," Jefferson sighed.

"I've already changed hotels," Hamilton said. "Twice."

"You should see Washington's house," Lafayette laughed, "He closed all his curtains and refuses to come outside."

"And at the first opportunity, Adams took off for Boston," Mulligan informed. "But I hear there are still people all around his house too."

"How do you know these things?" Burr asked.

"I've got a network," Mulligan shrugged.

"I hear the crowd outside Lafayette's house puts everyone else's to shame," Laurens grinned.

"It's my irresistible good looks and my charming French accent," Lafayette laughed.

"Maybe I should wear my hair up more then," Jefferson said.

Everyone looked him blankly. "Why?" Hamilton asked, voicing everyone's confused thoughts at the random statement.

Jefferson sighed, grabbed a hair tie from his wrist, cause he'd be damned if he didn't have one when he needed one, and pulled up his hair. "Bonjour bitches," Jefferson said in a perfect French accent, smirking at the entire table as they went into shock. Everyone's mouths were hanging open, Laurens was looking back and forth between Jefferson and Lafayette like he was about to pass out.

"Holy fuck," Mulligan whispered.

"Hey Lafayette, take out your hair tie," Burr said, still staring at Jefferson.

Lafayette reached up and undid his hair which came undone with an audible poof, like in a cartoon. "Hey y'all," Lafayette said in the most horrendous attempt at a southern accent.

Laurens clamped his hand over Lafayette's mouth, "Never. Ever. Do that again."

"How did we never realize how exactly alike you two looked?" Madison asked.

"Maybe it's Lafayette's magnetic personality compared to Jefferson's off-putting one that we see," Hamilton suggested.

"Seriously? How has no one noticed this except me?" Jefferson asked, still talking in a French accent.

"Dude, stop. My mind can't take it. It thinks you're Lafayette and I don't want to accidentally agree with you on something," Hamilton replied. "And take out that fucking hair tie."

"You know what? It feels kinda good to have the wind on my neck. It's so free. I think I'll keep it up for a while," Jefferson smirked, leaning back in his chair. Lafayette put his hair back up.

"Oh fuck. Now how do we tell them apart?" Laurens asked.

"Clothes," Burr replied flatly.

"Oh. Right," Laurens said, studying the difference in their wardrobe choice. Jefferson was dressed sharply, with a form-fitting gray vest over a purple dress shirt paired with matching gray dress pants. Lafayette, on the other hand, had chosen to go with a tank top with a button down thrown over it. "What's your deal with magenta?" Laurens asked.

"What's Hamilton's deal with green?" Jefferson asked.

"Hey! You're the one that-" Hamilton stopped short. Jefferson wouldn't remember that he'd been the one to tell Hamilton that green brought out his coloring and his eyes. He took a deep swig of his drink. Burr always told him to talk less. Maybe he should start trying that out and seeing if he managed to keep out of these situations.

***

The elections were fast approaching and Jefferson refused to take part in any campaigning whatsoever. He had enough on his plate with his memory loss as it was, he didn't need the added responsibilities of leading a fragile nation. Hamilton, however, had different ideas.

The last thing Hamilton wanted was for Jefferson to be president but what he wanted more than anything was for Jefferson to be himself again. Not necessarily with all his memories, though that'd be even better, no, what Hamilton wanted was to see that cocky strut, shit-faced grin, and the overbearing confidence he always used to have. He wanted to hear Jefferson's southern drawl as he disputed things with such intricate webs of facts and carefully chosen words that were tied up neatly with a bow of sass and witty remarks. So elegantly said that no one but Hamilton could refute his words.

That's why Hamilton was standing on Jefferson's door with a package in his hands, waiting for Jefferson to answer the door. What was taking him so long? Hamilton pounded impatiently on the door again. It swung open, perfectly framing Jefferson who was wiping the sweat from his forehead with a damp towel with one hand, holding a gleaming gun with the other, as he and Hamilton always did when answering the door. Due to Hamilton's shortness, he was eye level with Jefferson bare, dark-skinned chest, glistening with sweat and radiating heat.

Hamilton realized he was staring open mouthed when Jefferson cleared his throat and asked, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Hamilton's eyes snapped up to Jefferson's face, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "What were you doing?" Hamilton asked.

"Exercising," Jefferson replied.

That was when Hamilton noticed the music playing in the background, the playlist Jefferson always used when he and Hamilton sparred or he did anything active. Well, that explained his appearance. "Can I come in?" Hamilton asked.

"Sure." Jefferson swung the door open and stepped inside. He pulled out his phone and paused the music that was blasting through the house and went to the kitchen where he chugged down some water. Hamilton was enjoying every second of Jefferson walking around without a shirt. "So what did you need?" Jefferson asked.

Hamilton tossed the package at Jefferson, "We're going somewhere and you have to wear this."

Jefferson looked at him quizzically before tearing open the package and pulling out a long, heavy magenta coat and the matching velvet vest and pants. He could feel the reinforcing Kevlar beneath the fabric. "Your old one was getting ratty and is dyed super black now. It would never make a statement. We need to make a statement," Hamilton explained. "Now go take a shower and put them on. We got to get going, it starts soon."

"A statement?" Jefferson put the clothes on the counter. "Why do we need to make a statement? What do you have planned, Hamilton?"

"It's none of your concern. Just do it, okay?"

Jefferson grumbled complaints as he scooped up the clothes into a ball and stomped off to the shower. That was easier than Hamilton had anticipated. While Jefferson was in the shower, Hamilton changed into his own new set of clothes.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Hamilton lost his patience. He pounded on the bathroom door, "I swear Jefferson if you're not out in five minutes I'm turning off the hot water and freezing your ass!"

The door swung open, revealing Jefferson dressed in his magnificent suit, hips cocked to the side, cane in hand. Hamilton's felt his breath hitch and his heart thud painfully. Jefferson was a fabulous god again, not only a fabulous god, but he looked exactly like himself for once, complete with that confident smirk.

Jefferson was looking Hamilton up and down, smirk tugging at his lips. Oh, that smirk. Hamilton missed that smirk. "How did you get these anyway? They fit perfectly like they were custom tailored," Jefferson finally asked, brushing past Hamilton.

"Oh, I broke into your house while you were gone, hacked into your account, went through your order history, ordered an exact replica, and had them delivered to my home."

"Very funny. Now, how really?"

"No, I'm serious, that's exactly what I did. Well, Mulligan found out and offered to improve them, for a fee of course. Gotta make a living. Oh, here's your wallet back."

"Do I have a security issue to worry about?" Jefferson asked, slowly taking back his wallet as if Hamilton might have done something to it.

"I stole Madison's key."

"Ah. So where are we going?"

"To make a statement."

**\----**


	44. Debating the Future

 

Jefferson decided that his trust issues were because of Hamilton.

Well, okay, he couldn't blame Hamilton entirely. He did go of his own free will and he knew it was going to be some sort of public appearance since they were dressed up brightly. But he certainly did not expect Hamilton to lead him through a shady backdoor into a pitch black room. Hamilton guided Jefferson forward, planted him in a specific spot only he seemed to see before his hands disappeared from Jefferson's shoulders and he disappeared into the darkness of the room.

"INTRODUCING THE ICONS OF THE REVOLUTION, ALEXANDER HAMILTON AND THOMAS JEFFERSON!" a voice boomed, echoing throughout the room.

Oh shit.

Lights clicked on, illuminating and blinding Jefferson where he stood. Every single one of Jefferson's instincts kicked in instantly. He slapped on his most charming smile and waved at the crowd that he could now make out due to the lights, they were thundering their applause. Jefferson glanced over at Hamilton who stood at a podium, smiling at the crowd. Jefferson had his own podium.

This wasn't good.

"Are y'all ready for a debate?" the host person said. The crowd roared in response.

Oh fuck.

Hamilton brought him to a presidential candidate debate.

Fuck.

"Alright, let's start this off with the basics," the host said.

Jefferson was not prepared for any debates. He was so screwed.

Hamilton did this on purpose that little bastard. There was only one way to do this. Wing it.

"Basics?" Jefferson asked, "Where's the fun in that?" Jefferson walked out from his podium, slipping the microphone from its stand fluidly and strutted forward. "Never do anything basic. Always go for style and the greatest you can achieve." Jefferson could feel Hamilton's stare on the back of his head. "Now, let's get this started off fun." He stepped out to the edge of the stage, looking over the audience. "Who wants to come up on stage with me and ask a question?" he asked cheerfully, "Any question at all!"

Hundreds of hands shot up. A huge smile split Jefferson's face, "That's it! Let's let the people run this! Okay, you!" he pointed at a girl, "Come on up and ask your question." The girl stood up and made her way up to the stage and accepted the helping hand Jefferson offered her to get on stage. "Can we get an extra mic over here?" Jefferson looked around. "No, nevermind, that's fine you can have mine. Hamilton and I can share so we don't talk over each other. Hamilton, quit hiding behind your podium and get over here." Jefferson handed his mic over to the girl and stole Hamilton's mic as soon as he stepped over. "What's your name and question?" he asked.

"Martha and my question is what is the future for the people? Individually and as a whole?"

"Martha, that's a beautiful name. I had a wife named Martha. You have her beauty," Jefferson smiled, the girl blushed. "You first, Hamilton," Jefferson said, tossing the mic over Hamilton who caught it smoothly.

"Very broad question, Martha," Hamilton started, "Under this New Constitution, the people are their own future. We all have the power to make the future how we want it." Hamilton tossed the mic to Jefferson.

"You know, I don't think I've ever heard him say his opinion in so few words," Jefferson laughed with Martha, "Martha, the people  _are_  the future. That's the whole point about building a nation or a home or an empire, so it stands the test of time, to pass it on to the next generation and the next. Did that answer your question?" Martha nodded and walked off stage. Jefferson tossed the mic back to Hamilton.

"Alright! Who's next?" Hamilton asked the crowd. Even more hands thrust into the air. "Oh wow, okay. You, yeah, that's it, come on up." A man made his way on stage and Jefferson handed him a mic. "What's your name and your question?" Hamilton asked. Due to the lighting and the clothing the man wore, they couldn't really make out a lot of his features.

"My name is George," the man said easily. "And I'd like you to expand on your previous answer. How do you intend on to bring a nation together that's basically thirty separate nation's bickering and squabbling endlessly?"

Hamilton blinked. "It'll take lots of work, but the people need to be reminded that we are, in fact, one people. Every citizen here is a citizen of one nation. Neighbors, whether one road down or five states. The unity that used to be the defining trait of this nation is gone. Lost in the war that split fifty-one states into three pieces. One of those pieces are only four states and they're more unified than we are. We need to pull together again, reform, pick ourselves, dust ourselves off and learn to trust each other again. I walk down the street and even though the war is over, almost everyone is armed is some form or another. Even I'm walking down the street armed. Jefferson and I both answer our doors armed. Until we can move past this separation among states, we can't truly be one people." Hamilton handed the mic over to Jefferson calmly and the audience's attention followed the mic, shifting to Jefferson.

Jefferson overlooked the crowd. "We recently fought through two very bloody wars to get where we are now and we can't just let it crumble to the ground simply because we couldn't come together as a people. Everyone in this room, in this town, this state, this nation, and even the world, are one, divided by cultures and prejudices. We need to look around and see that each of us has suffered and bled and came together to when it was most important and remember that we can remain united. As one people. Until then, even with our history, I pledge myself to serve these United Divided States. Until we are united again and my services are no longer necessary." Jefferson finished and the man in front of them grinned, lifting his face just enough for Jefferson to glimpse. He stepped forward right as the man clapped and ran off stage.

That had been King George.

Jefferson shook his head as Hamilton called up the next person and they introduced himself. They could deal with the King later.

"Devin, and you mentioned the New Constitution a second ago I couldn't help but question the changes that were made to it compared to the original one from before the oligarchy. Why two presidents? Why do you feel it was necessary to include lgbtq+ rights?"

"Studied the original document now have we, eh Devin? I know a lot about it myself. I've studied it intensely, along with countless other documents and different forms of government. The goal was to create a form of government that can't be corrupted. Of course, that's impossible, everything gets corrupted or changed with time, so the best we could do was to build one that is extremely hard to corrupt and controlled by the people. Two presidents will prevent it falling into a dictatorship or an oligarchy like it did before. But it's still malleable so the people can shape it to their needs as the years pass. As for the lgbtq+ rights, it seems to me that if it's not clearly laid out that people have the right to be who they are, then someone will try to take it away from them. This entire revolution has been about fighting for being able to be who we are and doing what want, being who we want to be in life and chasing whatever dreams we could possibly dream. I'll not stand by and watched that right trampled on again after fighting so hard for it," Jefferson answered. He was about to toss the microphone back to Hamilton when the host walked up with an extra and handed it to Hamilton.

"In all honesty, Madison was the driving force behind the new structure of the New Constitution. I fought for a stronger central government that would bind the entire nation together as a whole. A unity that could last generations. We all know the struggle of the lgbtq+ community, it's something I aim to put an end to. The lgbtq+ community has made great strides over the past few decades, overcoming massive discrimination. Until King George came to power with his crew. The New Constitution keeps those rights from being taken away."

"George Fredericks," Jefferson clarified. "King is a nickname we gave him as a joke and it stuck," his eyes glancing to where that very person had disappeared a moment before.

Devin made his way back to his seat and Jefferson swung his long legs over the edge of the stage and sat casually as the next person came up and asked the next question. "So from the sound of it, both of you agree on something, despite disagreeing on everything else, and that's your support for the lgbtq+ community, is that right?"

Jefferson and Hamilton exchanged glances. "Correct," they both said.

"Can you elaborate?"

Hamilton looked to Jefferson who looked out over the crowd. Hamilton clutched his microphone tightly, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Everything in him screamed taboo. Jefferson seemed to come to a decision and stood gracefully. His entire bearing seeped sophistication and eloquence, he smiled at the crowd and reached into his pockets and pulled out a few colorful makers. Why the hell did he have markers? Hamilton's eye fastened on the specific colors Jefferson held.

Hamilton looked over the crowd, raised the microphone, built up his courage, and spoke loud and clear, "Yeah, I'm a bisexual."

Jefferson smiled at the crowd and posed, twin bi flags on either cheekbone. The crowd went nuts. Cheers or screams or insults, no one could entirely tell, but there was a lot of noise either way. Thankfully, no one tried shooting anyone.

**\----**


	45. Presidents

 

"I can't believe you both came out on national television," Burr shook his head in disbelief. "You two have enough enemies as it is and now you've added more. Why can't you just keep your mouths shut for once?"

"Smile more?" Hamilton grinned.

"You lost the homophobic vote," Burr stated.

"I couldn't care less," Hamilton said.

"I have a bone to pick with you two," Mulligan barged in through the door and threw himself onto Lafayette's couch. The group tended to hang out there, it felt like a neutral zone. "How come you didn't tell us before you told the whole world?!" Everyone looked at their hands. "Oh don't tell me. Don't tell me everyone knew except me?! What the fuck? Laf?"

"I, ah, figured it out on my own," Lafayette scratched his head nervously, smiling.

"Laurens?"

"Umm, yeah, Lafayette accidentally said a little bit too much at a bar one night."

"Madison?"

"Don't look at me. It was obvious."

"Burr?"

He just nodded. "It really is obvious."

"What the fuck you guys? You all knew all this time and didn't tell me?"

"Sorry, Herc," Hamilton mumbled, "I didn't exactly plan for that to happen, it just kinda did."

Mulligan seemed to shrug it off and looked at the group. "So is everyone here gay?" Burr choked on his drink, Lafayette laughed, Laurens just turned dark red, Jefferson was cackling in the corner. After a moment of looking at the group, Mulligan grinned. "You know what?" he said to Hamilton, "You and Jefferson would make an adorable couple."

Jefferson broke into a fit of coughs, his face turning bright red. Hamilton could feel his own face heat up. "Ahh, come on Herc, leave them alone," Lafayette laughed, diffusing the situation before anything could happen. Jefferson and Hamilton were extremely grateful.

"You know Burr," Laurens began, "even though they don't have the homophobic vote, their polls are still high. Right up there with Adams and Washington. The homophobes are almost extinct anyway. If there was one good thing that came out of the King's rule, it was almost total acceptance of the lgbtq+ community."

Jefferson's thoughts turned inward with the mention of King George. Why did he keep going out of his way to show up in Jefferson's and Hamilton's lives? There was absolutely no reason to.

Unless he was planning something.

***

When the news arrived, Jefferson's chest contracted almost painfully. He never thought it would actually happen. Not so soon. Not like this. He needed more time. But he didn't have it. Jefferson's stomach felt queasy. He wasn't ready for this responsibility. He had it before and he didn't want it again. Not when he still had so much of his own stuff to sort through.

He was President.

When Hamilton heard the news, he didn't know what to think. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. History obviously showed that Washington was the first president. He felt elated and nervous all at once. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to pop open a bottle of champagne and dance around.

Then he found out Jefferson was President too.

Fuck.

It made sense. They were the icons of freedom and resistance. They were opposite parties. They've worked together in the war and we're super successful. The people felt as though they could trust them.

But Jefferson? Jefferson was the last person he wanted as president after Burr. Hamilton pulled up the poll percentages online. He and Jefferson were at the top, then Washington, and a few votes beneath was Burr. Why couldn't it have been Washington instead of Jefferson? Hamilton could've done so much with Washington by his side. But now at every turn, Jefferson would be standing in his way.

But despite how much Hamilton hated knowing he was going to have to serve next to Jefferson, president was still a huge deal. Celebration was in order. Lafayette and Laurens would no doubt be busting down his door any moment to drag him away to the nearest bar. Hamilton didn't feel like getting shit faced drunk with them. He felt like a quiet celebration with a couple of glasses of champagne.

Only, Hamilton didn't keep champagne. If anyone kept champagne, it'd be Jefferson. That was his type of alcohol. Hamilton made his way to the hotel lobby where he'd hail a cab. The entire way over he kept telling himself that there was no helping it. He didn't have any champagne, but Jefferson would. And it was only proper to celebrate with the other guy who got elected, who just so happened to be Jefferson too. Deep down, Hamilton knew they were all excuses and that he just wanted to see him. But he would never admit it.

By the time he was standing on Jefferson's doorstep, he was nervously running his hand through his hair, tapping his foot and drumming his fingers against his leg.

Jefferson opened the door and immediately stepped aside when he saw it was Hamilton, letting him enter without hesitation. "What're you doing here?" he asked.

"Celebrating," Hamilton said, making his way to the kitchen.

"And you had to do that here?" Jefferson asked, closing the door.

"I didn't have any champagne," he answered easily, pulling a bottle from Jefferson's cupboard.

"Hotel room service couldn't provide?"

"And I figured I should celebrate with the other elected party, that just happens to be you."

Jefferson reached into a high cupboard over Hamilton's head, grabbed a couple of champagne glasses with his long fingers and stole the bottle from Hamilton's hands in one fluid motion. Setting the glasses down on the counter he looked at Hamilton, "Let's celebrate then." He popped the cork and sloshed the liquid into the glasses expertly, handing one off to Hamilton. "To the elections, Mr. President," Jefferson held out his glass in a toast.

"May we serve through easy times." Hamilton touched his glass to Jefferson before lifting the glass to his lips. "How's it feel to be president again?" Hamilton asked as Jefferson led them into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

"I can feel the stress already," he sighed, looking up at Hamilton as he stood there.

"It can't be that bad," Hamilton said, sinking into the sofa next to Jefferson, "It's not like we're on the verge of war with France and England this time."

"Say that again when you're actually behind the desk instead of critiquing from the sidelines. The stress builds up in your chest and locks up your back."

"I know. I used to run out all your knots when you came home from the office."

"You did? I can't recall."

"I know. It's okay, don't worry about it," Hamilton said, sipping at his champagne, leaning back comfortably into the couch, eyes closed, enjoying the peace for once.

Jefferson studied Hamilton as he relaxed. It was odd. Not long ago, Hamilton was always tense around Jefferson, ready to leap up and run out the door at a moment's notice. Watching Jefferson with hopeful eyes whenever he said something that might spark his memory and the disappointment when nothing did. Now he just seemed so comfortable. Jefferson could remember the hate between them from arguing over the new government and where it would go. He could still feel that burning hatred in his chest.

No. Not hatred, but still burning. Hot and heavy and intense. He suddenly felt Hamilton's hands tugging at his hair, clawing down his bare back. The heat radiating from where their bodies were pressed together, Hamilton pinned beneath him. The heavy breathing, the gasps, the moans.

Jefferson blinked. Hamilton hadn't moved, was still sipping his champagne, not a care in the world. Jefferson tried not to look at his soft lips or imagine how Hamilton's silky hair would feel in his hands. It would be so easy. So so easy, for Jefferson to lean down, to pin Hamilton beneath him, reenact what he just felt. His body was on fire.

No. He couldn't. Never. It wasn't right. The two presidents couldn't have an affair with each other. It was impossible. Scandalous. There was no way Jefferson could ever do such a thing. He'd be out of office in the blink of an eye.

Hamilton opened his eyes to find Jefferson staring at him. It was obvious that he was deep in thought be the way his eyes were unfocused and glazed over. He was probably thinking about the responsibility of being president again. Hamilton was anxious too.

"What're you thinking about?" Hamilton asked.

Jefferson jolted from out of his head, his face flushing deeply. "The presidency," he stammered.

Jefferson never stammered. Ever. He was always cool, collected, and every word had eloquence to it. But Hamilton didn't imagine it. "Anything in particular?" he questioned.

"Not really," Jefferson tried to say smoothly but failed, his face somehow managing to turn redder.

Hamilton suppressed a smile. There was only one line of thought that could have that effect on Jefferson. But he couldn't be sure. Hamilton sat up and leaned forward, Jefferson shifted nervously in response. Yep, Hamilton was right. He shifted slightly and settled back down into the couch as if his intention was always just to reposition.

Jefferson slowly relaxed and they both went back to quietly sipping their champagne. Hamilton wasn't going to do a damn thing. Nope. He fucked up once before when he was drunk, he had no intention of doing it again. Jefferson had built up the courage to make the first move in a time when it was illegal, he could build up the gall again and move when he was ready.

They were enjoying their quiet celebration, that is, until Lafayette, Laurens, and Mulligan busted down Jefferson's door. Literally. The hinges tore from the wall and the door fell heavily to the ground with a thud.

Hamilton and Jefferson were on their feet in an instant, both aiming pistols at the intruders. Hamilton pulled his from his holster, but he had no idea where Jefferson's gleaming silver gun appeared from. It was like magic. When they both realized who the others were, they put their weapons away.

"What did you do to my door?!"

"I'm sorry Jefferson, but your door looked lonely so we gave it a hug," Laurens answered.

"And what were you two doing on the couch? Leaping up so suddenly?" Lafayette asked knowingly.

Hamilton stalked over and poured his champagne over Lafayette's head, "Drinking champagne and celebrating," Hamilton said, "That's all," he hissed quietly.

"Celebrating?! You call this celebrating?" Mulligan asked. "Nuh-uh, this isn't even close. This is not the proper way to celebrate becoming presidents."

Jefferson rolled his eyes, draining the last of his champagne. Hamilton and Jefferson were then dragged from the house, taken prisoners by their own friends so they could be shown how to celebrate properly.

**\----**


	46. Just Getting Started

 

Funny thing about being elected as the first presidents of a Nation that had presidents previously is the white house was already built. There wasn't a bunch of moving around as the capital was decided. There was no watching it get built. Hamilton thought it was great they didn't have to worry about moving. Jefferson found it slightly sad. He loved watching things become something great. But he could also see all the history just under the fresh coat of paint and that history is what made it so beautiful.

Of course, that's what they thought. When someone told Jefferson that the white house would undergo renovation to accommodate the massive increase in personnel, Jefferson wouldn't allow it. All that history, gone, just to make room for eight or so more people and their cabinets? Not gonna happen. Hamilton didn't see what was so wrong with it. Out with the old, in with the new. But if someone didn't think about making sure what was happening today could be remembered tomorrow, then how much history would be lost? How much history was already lost just because people thought that no one would ever forget? Far too much. Jefferson was bent on keeping that from happening. That's why in his past life he always made copies of every single one of his letters, it's why there's so much history surrounding the birth of The United States of America, it's because it got written down.

So Jefferson insisted that the White House be preserved and instead used his own money to construct a presidential manor. A new house for a new nation, right? The best part, he got to design it himself. As much as he wanted to avoid the look and build of a mansion, there was no helping it. His first idea had been to build little cabin type designs for each member and a central building for meeting with ambassadors or cabinets, to keep it humble and simple. But Jefferson realized how inconvenient that would be. Imagine all the running around. No, everything had to be centralized which meant that Jefferson would be stuck with a mansion design after all.

He could still do a lot with that.

In the meantime, they made the White House work. There were plenty of guest rooms. Jefferson didn't fully understand why the White wouldn't be suitable even without the renovations, but Hamilton insisted that it be either renovated or they moved. So Jefferson chose they move.

Hamilton was surprised by how easy being president was. There was nothing to do. Literally. He spent his time wandering the rooms. Jefferson had been saying there'd be so much stress, yet here they were, bored out of their minds. Where was Jefferson anyway? After a ten minute hunt, Hamilton found him sitting in the oval office, looking over paperwork. "Is that something we need to take care of?" Hamilton asked, excited that there was work for him to do.

"No, not for you anyway. These are the floor plans for the Presidential Manor."

"Oh, I forgot you were designing that yourself. Are you going to put in gardens?"

"Who in their right mind wouldn't?"

"Just asking, jeez." Hamilton looked around the office. "So, I thought you said this would be stressful and time-consuming."

Jefferson looked up at him. "Hamilton, the government just started up. You have to give it a few days. Last time was hectic because of all the issues that were glaringly obvious. In a couple days, Congress will put forward plans for commerce and laws that become evident as time passes. This time around there's no constant debate about slavery, thank God, and you and I don't have to fight over financial systems. That's not even your job anymore. I'm sure by the end of the week we'll be so swamped with paperwork that we won't be able to see the door. Besides, we can't get started until the rest of the elections are over. We still have to wait for our vice presidents."

"I bet the financial plan need reviewing. I should look it over."

"That's your treasurer's job, Hamilton. Now can you leave me alone so I can work on this, I'd like to have the plans finished before the flood of paper so we can actually get started on the Manor."

"I need something to do, I can't just sit around and twiddle my thumbs," Hamilton protested. "Who do you think is going to be Vice?"

"Well, Washington retired and went home. I'll bet Madison and Burr will be two of them."

"Yeah? What about the other two? I bet Lafayette could get a position."

"Can you imagine if Adams ended up being your vice?" Jefferson laughed.

"No-" Hamilton's eyes went wide. Jefferson was full on cackling. "Not going to happen. Nope. Nope."

"It's fully within the realm of possibility. You're in the same party, yeah? Very likely. At this point, I'd be surprised if it didn't."

"Yeah, well, you'll have to deal with fucking Burr. Remember how well that went the first time?"

"Shit."

"Yeah. So fuck off."

***

Ends up, they were pretty spot on for elections. Madison and Burr were Jefferson's vice presidents, Hamilton's was Adams, and to both Jefferson's and Hamilton's surprise and pleasure, Angelica was Hamilton's other vice.

Jefferson was right. Hamilton was swamped with work. Jefferson and Hamilton were running back and forth to each other's office every five seconds to get a signature or steal some important document or discuss something. Right now, they were dealing with the aftermath of the war. The nation was bankrupt thanks to the oligarchy and King George's taste for extravagance. There were small uprisings of Govey loyalists to deal with. King George disappeared and went into hiding as soon as the word spread if the Rebel victory. He still had to be found. Commerce had to be renegotiated and reestablished with other nations since the Eastern States was technically a new nation now, so all old treaties and agreements were void. That meant ambassadors had to be nominated and approved and then funded to be sent overseas. The infrastructure of the government had to be completely rebuilt from the ground up. That was the part of the government that dealt with building roads and cities and buildings. Keeping everything up and running. Electricity, power, gas, water, tram systems, licenses, everything. It all collapsed in the war and is nearly impossible to rebuild.

Unless you've got deep pockets. Deep, deep pockets. Something the government didn't have.

It didn't help that Jefferson and Hamilton argued over everything. Jefferson was constantly worried about Hamilton proposing another financial plan like the one before. Jefferson fought against it the first time because he predicted that from it would spring corporations that would grow powerful enough to slowly turn the Republican form of government into an aristocracy or monarchy. And was mostly right. Look around at the world around you. Corporations control everything. Jefferson bitterly regretted the day he and Madison traded it for the capital. But they would need a system for raising money and fast. If they didn't come up with anything soon, the nation could fall apart as it spiraled into depression.

Hamilton also wanted to use the military to squash the Govey resistance. Jefferson had to remind him daily that they were citizens and had every right to protest the government as long as they didn't endanger the nation and her people. Hamilton wasn't happy. He didn't like being slandered by the press. Every time something was published about him and his past affairs or supposed new ones or any awful slander people could come up with to rake his name through the mud, Hamilton was always right there with a sharp and barbed response, defending his honor. That's always been his weakness. The ones put against Jefferson went ignored. The people could say whatever they wanted, he wasn't going to dignify schoolyard taunts with a response.

"We should think of a flag redesign," Hamilton said one day, walking into Jefferson's office, plopping into a chair and kicking his feet onto the desk.

Jefferson eyed Hamilton's feet, debating whether or not to push them off and risk scattering his papers everywhere or leave them be. He really didn't feel like having re-sort his papers again, so he let them be. "A new flag?"

"Yeah. We're getting a new Manor, new government, new treaties, probably a new name when someone thinks of one. Why not a flag?"

"I suppose, but we already have so much to do," Jefferson sighed, looking at his desk and the tall stacks of files.

"So, we do what the old government did before the oligarchy was formed all those decades ago. Make it a contest. Anyone can participate. All the designs are sent in and we can decide from there."

"That's still a lot of work, Hamilton. Work we don't have time for."

"Nonsense. Pull a couple all-nighters and we'll be good. Just drink some coffee."

"Hamilton," Jefferson rubbed his face tiredly, "we've both already been up for three days straight. We literally walk into each other in the hallway and stand there confused about it for a minute until we realize we were heading to the other's office. I don't think our bodies can take much more sleepless nights."

"More coffee."

Jefferson hit his head against the desk. "Fine. Let's run it by Congress."

"Great!" Hamilton jumped to his feet, "I'll do that right away" he dashed out of the office, nearly running into the door on his way out.

Dear God, that man was going to be the death of Jefferson

**\----**


	47. The World Revolves Around Money

 

The ambassadors were, by far, the easiest thing to decide. The people almost just fell into place. However, it was also weird knowing that it wouldn't be Jefferson that went to France. But other than him not going, history seemed to just drop Benjamin Franklin into their path, like seriously, he practically fell from the sky. Not only that, he had a gleaming in his eye like he knew something no one else did. Hamilton and Jefferson highly suspected Franklin possessed the memories of his past life as well but they decided not to do anything about it. Franklin left for France, John Quincy Adams for England, and various others to different countries. Hamilton pushed for an alliance with France but Jefferson sent them off with the explicit instructions to only discuss commerce and nothing more.

"An alliance with England would be highly beneficial," Hamilton argued, sitting across from Jefferson's desk, arms crossed.

"Alliances have their perks, but in the end, they're always more dangerous than they're worth," Jefferson responded, placing a piece of paper in a pile.

"If we gain England's backing, everything will become ten times easier," Hamilton replied. "If a world war were to break out, we'd need the ally."

"Hamilton, alliances are the reason world wars break out. One country throws a rock or spits an insult and the other country calls in all their friends. Soon everyone's involved and nuclear war imminent. *Peace, commerce, and honest friendships with all nation's, entangling alliances with none.* We don't need to go around and poking our noses into everyone else's business."

"Sure, but an alliance would give a boost and at least one close-knit relation with a country of standing would solidify our place in the world, which I might remind you, is pretty much nonexistent. China is going to be super pissed about their our debt to them never being paid."

"So we pay it."

"Jefferson, the debt belonged to a country that no longer exists. There is no debt anymore, this nation isn't bound to any treaties or debts of the last nation."

"Wouldn't paying back a debt to avoid war and an even greater future debt be worth it?" Jefferson countered.

"We can't afford it!" Hamilton protested, shooting up from his chair and ransacking Jefferson's desk for a specific chart. Hamilton found it and shoved it in Jefferson's face, "You see this? This is how much we owe  _to ourselves._  Throw China on there too, you know what we get?" Hamilton turned it over and drew a new graph on the blank side. "This. This is what we get. And if we pay back China, we'll have to assume the debts that are owed every other nation as well." He drew additional charts for them. Hamilton was fuming, how could Jefferson not understand?

Jefferson stood from his chair, plucked the paper from Hamilton's hand and strode across the room, studying all the different charts Hamilton had drawn. "You're a terrible artist," he remarked. Hamilton scoffed. "This debt is extreme," Jefferson sighed, "But imagine if we went to war." Jefferson placed the paper on the desk and drew his own comparison charts. "This is the debt we would owe to every country, plus to ourselves if we assume the debts. This is the debt we would have if we went to war." Jefferson looked pointedly at Hamilton, God, Jefferson loved him when he was like this. Defiant, stubborn, unyielding, hot from arguing. "It would cost us significantly, plus even more loans from other nations since we don't have a dime for ourselves. And if other nations come after us like China, then it'd be an even greater war with even greater costs. Not only can we not afford a war, we don't have the stability for it. We just got up and running."

Hamilton studied Jefferson's charts, Goddamnit, he was right. They couldn't afford to pay the debts and they couldn't afford a war either. Fuck. Now what? Hamilton studied Jefferson. He stood cockily, smirk stretched across his face, hip popped out slightly. He knew he was right, that fucker. He knew what that stance did to Hamilton's self-control. Wait, no he didn't, he wouldn't remember that. "What we need is a war..." Hamilton said slowly.

"Hamilton-"

"No, not like that. We need a war that we're not involved in. A European or Asian war, anywhere that just isn't here. Remain neutral, don't get involved, sell guns, turn a profit and bam! No more debt. War is the quickest money maker if one knows how to use it."

"That might be but a war isn't going to happen just because you say we need one," Jefferson reminded him. "Let's just talk to our treasurers. We can come up with a plan. Besides, we need to get the infrastructure up and running first. Right now we need to worry about rebuilding. We've got lots to reconstruct. Cities, roads, you name it, we can't do that without an infrastructure. We've got to get the nation standing again."

"Fine, but if we have no money, how do we rebuild an infrastructure? You need money to build one, but an infrastructure is how the government gets money. It'd be doable if the government had some money to start with, but we don't and a loan isn't even an option at this point. We've got no standing credit with other nations and they won't talk to us until our ambassadors come to an agreement. It's a circle with no beginning."

Jefferson sat back down behind his desk, pulled open a drawer and searched around in it. After a moment he pulled out a checkbook and flipped it open, scanning through the pages. He sank back into his chair, elbow on the armrest, fingertips supporting his head as he studies the checkbook in resignation. It couldn't be helped. He closed the book and tossed it onto his desk amidst all the papers. "I'll cover it," he sighed.

"What?" Hamilton was sure he heard wrong.

"I'll pay it. We can rebuild the infrastructure."

"Jefferson, that's hundreds of billions of dollars. Hundreds of trillions. Probably more."

"Probably more," Jefferson sighed.

"There's no way even you could cover it."

"I said I'll cover it," Jefferson grit his teeth.

"Can you even afford it? I mean, I know you're rich, but are you really that rich?" Hamilton reached for Jefferson's checkbook.

Jefferson snatched it away and put it in his pocket. "Yes, I'll be fine. Now quit asking," Jefferson snapped.

Hamilton backed off. "Okay, I'll make some calls, we'll focus on money raising for now. I'll talk to the treasurers and go before Congress and see if we can get some tax money rolling in."

**\----**


	48. The Cost of Presidency

 

Madison went every day to Jefferson's office where he made a report for the several cabinet members involved in the rebuilding of the infrastructure. It was easier just for Madison to give it to Jefferson all at once than have a bunch of people come flooding into the office with a bunch of fragments. Hamilton no doubt got the same from his own cabinet. As Madison went over the list of expenses and required steps, Jefferson rubbed his temples. "The cost, Madison, what's the overall cost?" Madison cleared his throat and told him. "Shit, we're in worse shape than I thought." Jefferson rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms.

"Shall I call it off?" Madison asked, looking at the outrageously long number.

"No. I'll call Hamilton in here so we can discuss and send it over to Congress straight away. Thanks for the report, Madison." Madison handed Jefferson the file, said his farewells and left, walking briskly toward his next assignment. Jefferson flipped open the file and looked lazily over the charts and numbers, each neatly labeled. He had to go to Hamilton office but he wasn't entirely sure he had enough energy to stand. Maybe a quick nap, his papers looked like the perfect pillow. No. He had work to do. Maybe Hamilton had coffee brewed already. Jefferson walked down the hallway and pushed open Hamilton's door.

"-just tell Jefferson, Alex."

"Angelica you-"

"Tell me what?" Jefferson's voice interrupted Hamilton's and Angelica's conversation.

"Holy shit! Jefferson? What do you want?" Hamilton yelled, startled by his sudden appearance.

Jefferson held up the file, "Paperwork. What did you need to tell me?"

Hamilton glanced to Angelica who gave him a look that said just do it. He sighed. "It's the emergency departments. Police, fire, all of them. They're shutting down all over the country, one by one from lack of government funding. We don't have enough money."

Fuck. Without police departments, anarchy could easily take hold. That's not good. "No pennies we can stretch?" Jefferson asked.

"None," Hamilton replied grimly.

"How much to keep them running?" Hamilton handed him a piece of paper.

This was just getting worse and worse. Jefferson paged Burr, knowing Madison wouldn't be available. Jefferson handed Hamilton the file. "Here, sign off on this. It's the infrastructure plan."

Hamilton flipped it open, scanning over the words and charts, flipping pages until he found the total number. "Holy-" Burr walked into through the door.

"Burr," Jefferson greeted.

"Sir."

Jefferson stole paper from Hamilton's desk, wrote something down, and handed it to Burr. "Transfer this amount to the proper departments listed here." He handed the paper to Burr who took it and saw to it immediately.

"Jefferson, did you just-"

"Don't worry about it, Hamilton. Just sign those papers and send them to Congress pronto so we can get going again. Lovely seeing you, again Angelica," he said on his way out the door.

Angelica rushed over to Hamilton to look down at the file and swore. "How are we going to fund this infrastructure plan, Hamilton? We can't even fund the police."

"Don't worry about it, Ang. We've got it all figured out."

"I'll start some fundraisers," she said, picking up her own pile of documents and walking out the door.

Hamilton picked up a pen and signed the file.

***

Hamilton walked into Jefferson's office to find him fast asleep, surrounded by an outrageously tall stack of finished paperwork. Looks like Jefferson managed to get all caught up on his work and decided the desk was a suitable replacement for a bed. Hamilton smirked and snapped another picture. The last one he took was still his phone's background photo. Jefferson was just so cute in it, with his glasses all askew.

Hamilton put away his phone and set the stack of paperwork he needed Jefferson to look over and sign on his desk. He felt a little bad since Jefferson had just finished. Hamilton's desk was also finally clean. He glanced over at the stack Jefferson completed, well, not now, he'd have to go through those ones too. It could wait. Neither he or Jefferson had slept in a week and they needed the rest before they died. Hamilton gently shook Jefferson awake. "Hamilton?" he said groggily, not lifting his head. "What do you need?"

"For you to stand up and go to bed."

"Ehhh."

"I would carry you but I'm not strong enough."

Jefferson's head shot up from the table, a piece of paper stuck to his cheek. "I can carry myself," he said, only half conscious.

"Carry? No. No, you can't, that's impossible. Walk? Yes, that you can do."

Jefferson swayed to his feet and walked down the hall, Hamilton following to make sure he didn't pass out on the floor or walk into a closet. Although if he did pass out, Hamilton was definitely shoving him in a broom closet. Sadly, he didn't get the chance. Jefferson managed to make it to his room and collapse on his bed, falling asleep instantly. Hamilton found his way to his own bed.

***

"Mr. Presidents!" All four vice presidents burst through the door of Hamilton's office in the middle of a very heated argument between Jefferson and Hamilton. They both cut off and turned to ask for news.

"The infrastructure is running well enough now that we can collect taxes again," Madison reported.

"The emergency departs are up and running at full efficiency," Angelica said happily.

"The Western and Independent States of America have entered into commercial agreements," Adams said.

"Education centers are also up and running again," Burr reported.

Hamilton and Jefferson looked at each other and grinned. They did good. It wouldn't be long before it was smooth sailing. A decade or so maybe. If things kept up the way they were going.

"Great work everyone!" Jefferson cheered, "We're making great headway!"

"For how much we have to fix and get running again, we're making astounding progress," Hamilton said.

"The percentage that this government held together to this stage without falling into anarchy was extremely low," Madison said, "I'm impressed. But it's still extremely low that this'll all work."

"Buzzkill," Angelica muttered. "I know! Party! Time to celebrate!"

Jefferson chuckled, "Maybe you guys can. Get Lafayette, Mulligan, Laurens, Peggy, and Eliza and go have fun. I've got work to do."

"And everyone says I'm the stick in the mud," Burr commented. Adams slipped out the door with no one noticing.

"Actually, he's right. We've got too much to do. Plus, we've got to address the nation soon. That has to be planned. Then there's the Presidential Manor, it's almost complete which means we'll have to deal with a move. And then add dealing with Govey uprisings, ambassadors, and commerce agreements, financial systems. We've got too much to go over and pass on to Congress," Hamilton gestured to the Leaning Tower of Paper on his desk.

"You two used to be the life of the party. What happened?" Angelica asked.

"Presidency," Jefferson sighed.

***

The group left to go party. Hamilton's and Jefferson's absence wasn't going to stop them. So Jefferson and Hamilton went back to their discussion.

"You're such an ostentatious little shit!" Hamilton yelled.

"And you're a pretentious fucker!" Jefferson shot back.

"Asshole."

"Bastard."

Hamilton paused for a split second. He stepped closer, getting Jefferson's face. "You're just afraid," he hissed.

"Afraid of what?" Jefferson growled. His body was hot from the argument, from the insults and facts they'd been spitting back and forth.

"Afraid my system will turn your precious Republic into an aristocracy of corporations."

"Of course I am! It happened the first time too and it turned into this mess of a nation!"

"I don't see you thinking of anything," Hamilton retorted.

"I'm not signing it. I regretted this same decision for the rest of my last life and this one the first time. No way am I repeating it."

"It's not the same as before!" Hamilton's hair had fallen out of its bun hours ago and now it was falling in his face much to Jefferson's annoyance.

"It's close enough." Jefferson swiped the hair from Hamilton's face. "I'm not signing it."

"You're stuck in the past, Thomas. I just bettered the system that was in place before the war. Even if I thought it was a good idea to replace it entirely, which I don't, the sudden massive change would trigger an economic meltdown and send us spiraling into depression. Look around, there's no gold and silver backing anymore at this point. This is what we have and if we don't put it in place soon, we won't have anything, including a nation."

Jefferson may have been slightly distracted. Hamilton was standing way too close for Jefferson's comfort but he couldn't bring himself to step away. Hamilton's lips were forming angry words rapidly, Jefferson could feel his hot breath on his skin. "Alexander, the corporations will easily-"

Hamilton cut him off, "We have checks against them now. They can't overpower the government and take control like last time."

"Oh my fucking God, do you ever shut up?"

"Not when I'm right."

"You're never right," Jefferson.

Hamilton leaned in slightly to try and show dominance subconsciously. Jefferson refused to back down. "I'm always right," Hamilton hissed.

"You're disillusioned." Jefferson didn't think he could take this anymore. Hamilton was just so hard headed, every single one of his barbed words made Jefferson's heart beat faster, his skin grow hotter. Hamilton was so close, staring him down with those brilliant dark eyes that sparked with intelligence and burned with a fiery passion that fueled his words.

Jefferson loved that look. That look Hamilton only had when they argued.

"Sign the fucking bill."

"Give up and shut your mouth about your stupid plan."

"Make me," Hamilton growled.

Jefferson shoved Hamilton against the wall, Hamilton's eyes going wide with shock. Jefferson never resorted to physical confrontation when they fought. Hamilton regathered his thoughts in seconds, ready to push him off. "Jefferson what do you think you're-"

"I keep reliving one moment," Jefferson said heavily, head dipping down, his breath hot in Hamilton's ear.

Oh.

"One moment I can remember with you, me, and a wall."

 _Oh_.

"And it drives me crazy."

"Thomas," Hamilton breathed, his chest aching. "What exactly are you thinking of doing?"

Jefferson pulled back enough to look Hamilton in the eyes. "I'm thinking of kissing you so deeply and so thoroughly, you won't be able to think straight for a week."

Fuck.

Jefferson's lips hovered just above his, his body pressed flush against him to where Hamilton could feel every inch of Jefferson's body. Jefferson hung his head, "But I can't.." He pulled away and made for the door.

"No, Thomas, wait-"

"We're the Presidents, Alexander," he said quietly as Hamilton's office door clicked shut behind him.

That mother fucker.

**\----**


	49. Presidential Manor

 

Have you ever seen a movie where the love interest runs off just like Jefferson did? Because Hamilton has. He could almost hear the audience yelling at him to go after Jefferson, grab him by the arm, spin him around, and kiss him. He could see himself doing it, he wanted to do it, there was just one problem. His legs refused to move. It was like they were glued to the floor. Hamilton's mind was blank and racing through five thousand different thoughts all at the same time. Goddamnit. This wasn't how it was going to be. Hamilton's fingers crinkled the paper of his bill that he was still holding.

He found he did have the ability to walk after all. He stomped out of his room and down to Jefferson's office, bursting through the door, he slammed the document down on his desk in front of a startled Jefferson. "You still haven't signed my bill!"

"Alexander-"

"Just fucking sign it. Get over yourself and sign the goddamned piece of paper so we can actually fund the nation!"

Jefferson sighed, picked up a pen, looping the J around and signing his name with an elegance only people from the 1700's could manage. "Happy?" Jefferson asked, setting down his pen.

"No."

"Alexander, look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've-"

"Forget it, Thomas. You're right. We're the Presidents. We can't be involved. The rumors surrounding us are already numerous as it is."

Jefferson smirked slightly, "I thought you were always right?"

Hamilton swiped the bill from Jefferson's desk. "If I had a book right now, you wouldn't be smirking."

"Send your fucking bill to Congress."

***

Jefferson, Hamilton, the Vice Presidents, and the Cabinets all stood in front of the new Presidential Manor.

"You designed this?" Angelica asked in awe.

"Yep," Jefferson said proudly. "Welcome to your new home for as long as you remain in office."

"It's beautiful," she said.

"Well let's stop gawking and go check out our rooms," Jefferson laughed, "The inside is the best part. There're all sorts of secret passageways. Only I know all of them. You guys get to have the fun of trying to find them all."

"Secret passageways? Was that really necessary?" Burr asked.

Jefferson shrugged. "An architect always enjoys a challenge."

"Think of it this way, Burr," Madison said, "We can avoid people."

"Holy shit, secret passageways are the best idea," Burr said. Jefferson laughed. Adams didn't look the least bit amused.

They all followed Jefferson inside as he gave them a basic tour. "This is the grand dining hall, where we will dine with ambassadors and world leaders," he led them into a massive room with high ceiling and dangling chandeliers. Nothing was forgotten or left out. There was a massive painting of George Washington over a mantle.

"Why is there a massive portrait of the General?" Adams asked.

"That's  _the_  General George Washington, from the Revolutionary War of 1775."

"I never realized how similar they looked," Angelica commented. Jefferson, Burr, Madison, and Hamilton all shared a look. They had no idea.

Jefferson moved on, finishing up the first floor where all ambassador related business would be taken care of and to the second floor. "Each Cabinet member of the same position, i.e. the two treasurers, have adjoined offices so that they may discuss without having to run to the other side of the building. Cabinet members' bedrooms are also not far off, just down the hall." He showed each member their specific office and decided to let them fight over who gets which bedroom. He moved on. The Vice Presidents' offices are just across the hall from the Presidents' office. That way you can barge in and yell at us at your convenience." He showed which office belongs to whom and then moved on. "Now the presidential office is just one big office for the both of us," he told Hamilton. "I got tired of all the running back and forth we did constantly, so now we can just yell at each other from our desks." Hamilton nodded, wondering how often one of them would stomp out with a handful of documents to go find some quiet. Knowing what Hamilton was thinking, Jefferson added, "We also have a workspace in our rooms." Hamilton and Jefferson were alone, standing in their office as everyone else was examining their own rooms. "Now I will tell about one secret passageway," Jefferson told Hamilton, examining a wall. "We each have a passage from this office to our respective rooms, its extremely short since our rooms are just on either side, but from how often we stumbled down the hallway, almost passing out from exhaustion, I decided a quick route from here to a bed would be a good idea. The rest you have to discover on your own," Jefferson grinned, lording in his knowledge of all the passageways. He pushed in a section of wall and it popped out and slid to the side, revealing a bedroom. "This is your room," Jefferson said to Hamilton, gesturing him through the door.

Hamilton stepped through the wall and into his room and looked around. It was elegantly done. The walls were a creamy color that went perfectly with the emerald green bed that was draped in sheer fabric and the most comfortable heavy comforter Hamilton had ever seen. There was a desk tucked gracefully into a corner, surrounded by a couple bookshelves, already stalked and ready to read. All the wood in the room was a medium coloring, if Hamilton took a guess, it would be a type of African wood. It tied the room together beautifully. There was even a fireplace.

"Do you like it?" Jefferson asked, "I designed this room myself." All the other rooms were designed by actually interior design people, Jefferson just designed the Manor. "I designed both our rooms actually."

"It's perfect," Hamilton said, "But I wonder how many passages there are."

Jefferson grinned. "You'll just have to figure that out." He stepped back through the wall and into the office, Hamilton followed and Jefferson shut the wall. He crossed to the other side of the room and opened a wall on the other side, leading into Jefferson's room. It was very similar, except instead of green, it was magenta coupled with an extremely dark wood. Jefferson had more bookcases, only because he couldn't decide which books to keep nearby and which ones in the library. "Are you saying you hand choose every book on my bookshelves?" Hamilton asked.

"Perhaps." He opened up the closet and gestured to the clothes. "On this side of our closets are the normal clothes, ranging from casual to formal to sleepwear. On this side are the Kevlar enforced, ranging from casual to formal to sleepwear. Anything you could possibly need. I suggest Kevlar whenever we're in public, we've still got targets on our backs." Jefferson led them back out and shut the wall, gathered up the other members and continued the tour.

He thought of everything. Everything. Hamilton couldn't think of anything Jefferson forgot. He was even surprised by something's that never even crossed his mind. But his favorite room would always be the library. It was the biggest room of the Manor, stretching up through all the floors, the ceiling being made of indestructible glass, letting in the sunlight for daytime reading. The shelves stretched on and on, countless books lining their shelves. Hamilton had to recover from the experience.

This was their new home. For now anyway. After the presidency, Hamilton would have to go back to his little hotel room. Fun. How had he still not gotten a house?

After everyone got settled in, they went back to work. Always with the work. It was just poured in non-stop. Congress sent in bills, nations sent letters and ambassadors, people sent complaints and ideas, the other branches of government sent in all sorts of weird things that needed to be dealt with. There were constant reports on Judge nominations and from departments concerning national security and health and countless other things. It just never stopped coming. Jefferson and Hamilton would finally manage a clear desk when Madison and Angelica would walk in with a brand new stack, earning groans from them both. And to make it harder, Jefferson or Hamilton would refuse to sign certain documents, resulting in an argument that would heat the room with more than one kind of tension as they argued for hours without end until one of them opened a wall and stomped out with a stack of papers.

So far, no one had discovered any passageways. Except for Angelica, she walked into her bedroom and immediately spotted two. One leading to the pantry of the kitchen and the other taking her to a relaxation room. She was very proud of herself, she stole a pack of cookies and smacked them down on Jefferson's desk in accomplishment. "I found a passage," she said smugly, "Two actually."

Jefferson grinned and stole a cookie. "Only five million more to go."

"Five million?" Angelica gawked.

"No, not really."

"Holy shit, how much did this place cost? And how did we afford it?" she asked.

"Magic," Jefferson smiled.

**\----**


	50. Familiar Setting

 

Nightmares still plagued Hamilton nightly. He was sure he'd be troubled by them every night for the rest of his life. They came less often when he slept with Jefferson, but didn't seem like it was ever going to happen again. At least until they were out of the presidency. Lately, he dealt with them by going to his office and working or walking through the halls. But now that they moved, he worked in his and Jefferson's office instead, by candlelight. He just enjoyed it more to the overbearing lights of the office. Sometimes it was nice for the only light to be provided by a flickering flame. Call him old-fashioned.

Imagine his surprise when Jefferson walked in, rubbing his face tiredly, shaking off his own nightmare. "Thomas?"

Jefferson froze and slowly looked up at Hamilton who was sitting at his desk, quill in hand. It must've looked like they were from the 1700's. "Alexander? What're you doing still up?"

"I imagine the same thing you're doing," he replied, setting down his quill.

Jefferson looked at him for a moment and then nodded his head toward the wall, "Follow me." Hamilton got up and followed Jefferson as he led them into Hamilton's room. Hamilton was getting very suspicious. Jefferson walked over to Hamilton's bed and looked at it for a second.

"Thomas, what're-"

Jefferson reached down toward Hamilton's nightstand.  _Click._ A small door swung open in Hamilton's wall. "Come on," Jefferson said, waving Hamilton to follow as he stepped into the darkness of the passageway. Hamilton ran back to the office, grabbed his candle and followed Jefferson, the door shutting behind them. Jefferson took them down a winding passageway that opened up into a dark room. Hamilton couldn't see anything beyond the candle's small circle of light. Jefferson stole the candle from Hamilton's hand and started lighting other candles throughout the room. "This is a secret room only accessible to you and me," he explained. "I designed it to look like the 1700's, I figured it'd put us more at ease on nights like this." Hamilton studied the surroundings as they slowly became more clear with each candle Jefferson lit. "There's a fireplace and stuff to make tea. Plenty of books. There's also a couple of spare instruments in the corner. I tried to put everything I could think of that might help soothe nightmares."

Jefferson set down the candlestick having finished lighting each candle. The room now glowed with a soft light. There was a couch and a couple of chairs, bookshelves lined the walls, everything looked cozy and comforting. "Think it'll do?" Jefferson asked?

"It's amazing. How'd you think of all this?" Hamilton asked.

Jefferson shrugged. "It just seemed like something that would be needed. I'll put on some tea," Jefferson said, walking over to a shelf that jutted from the wall that was stacked with different types of tea and a kettle. Hamilton sank down onto the couch. This was nice. Really nice. Jefferson returned with a couple of cups of steaming tea and handed one off to Hamilton before sinking into a plush chair. A calm silence settled over the room.

"You know," Hamilton said softly, taking a drink of his tea, "we haven't done this since before the end of the war."

"Before I lost my memories?"

"Yeah..."

"We used to do this often?"

"All the time. Before we even recovered our past memories. After we got kidnapped, you'd always be here, with an extra cup of tea for me if I emerged, suffering from similar nightmares."

"Huh. I had no idea."

"Most nights we sat in silence, just enjoying the fact that we weren't alone. Then one night, we talked about it. Not much, just shared a couple of things we saw."

"Alexander?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

***

Burr was running around to every office in the entire Manor, delivering the various papers piled high in his hands to cabinet members from the latest Congressional vote. Not only that, but he was always rushing down to Congress to actually take part in the voting in case there was a tie. Usually, there wasn't, so he'd do some paperwork instead. Madison, Angelica, and Adams were right there with him, just in their own sections of the government. Everyone in the executive branch was constantly running around or scribbling out hurried documents for approval. Cabinet members argued and proposed plans to Hamilton and Jefferson who in turn argued over them. It was their routine. It became normal for Hamilton to walk into the office he had left moments before to retrieve two cups of coffee and return to a passed out Jefferson. Hamilton would have to wake him and send him off to bed. Whenever Jefferson walked in on a passed out Hamilton, he just scooped him up and carried him through the wall to his bed before retiring to his own.

That all changed in the blink of an eye.

Jefferson and Hamilton were walking down the hallway, a fresh stack of papers in their arms, discussing the progress of the infrastructure. Jefferson shouldered open their office door and stopped dead, papers spilling from his hands onto the floor. "Jefferson, what the hell?" Hamilton asked, pushing his way into the room.

"Tut tut, making such a mess. Is that how a president should act?" King George asked, sitting behind Jefferson's desk, his feet propped up on the wood as he leaned back and popped cherries into his mouth.

**\----**   
  



	51. Scars

"How the fuck did you get in here?" Hamilton half yelled, reaching for the knife he always kept tucked on his person.

"Oh don't be so dramatic. That's my job," King George smirked, "and I have my ways. Scorn has a way of opening doors."

Jefferson and Hamilton shared a look, what? That was complete nonsense.

"You're the target of a nationwide manhunt. What's keeping us from apprehending you right now?" Jefferson asked.

"Information." King George picked at his nails. "More specifically, blackmail."

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. "What kind of blackmail?"

"Your relationship," the king cooed, "Can't have that getting out, now can we?"

Jefferson and Hamilton looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Ha! You don't even know about our duress," Hamilton almost sang.

"It's true, there's nothing between us, I confess," Jefferson shrugged.

"What are you talking about? You two made out in front me while standing on the table."

Jefferson looked to Hamilton, confused. Had that actually happened? Hamilton ignored him, King George was just missing their true weakness. Jefferson's memory loss. If word got spread around about that, people would doubt his ability to lead. It didn't, the only thing Jefferson couldn't seem to remember was Hamilton. Even then he could remember all of the plans and ideals he opposed Hamilton on in the 1700-1800's, just not Hamilton himself. But that wouldn't stop the people or his enemies from using it against him.

"It's not a thing anymore," Hamilton said authoritatively, "We broke it off."

"Delicious! Details! I want details!" the king cried. "It must be so much fun being stuck in an office with your ex all day. Tell me all the juicy bits."

Jefferson swore the king was a teenager bent on gossiping.

"Can I kill him?" Hamilton asked.

"Not in the Presidential Office. I don't want to stain the rugs."

"We could just get new ones."

"Alexander, they're brand new."

"Ugh, fine. So what are we going to do with him?" Hamilton asked.

"Put him on trial," Jefferson replied as the king picked his nails casually, still relaxing behind Jefferson's desk.

"That's too good for the likes of him," Hamilton protested.

"Everyone deserves a trial."

The king interrupted their conversation, "It's amusing you assume that you have me in a corner," a sly smirk stretched across his face.

"What're you talking about?" Hamilton asked.

The king stood, stretched and walked over the window, looking out over the view. "Beautiful location you chose, Jefferson." He turned and leaned against the window sill, smiling. "I can't wait to steal it from you. Of course, I came here for a reason and I'm sad to say that I find that you two really don't see anything very clearly, do you? Not even after my last couple of visits. Why would I keep showing up in hopes to talk to you if I were against everything you say I am and did all the things you claim I committed. It's a shame and it really stunts our relationship. I suppose you need more time."

Hamilton and Jefferson realized what the king was up to, but too late. The king toppled over backward out of the window, falling a couple stories. The two of them rushed to the window, praying that he slipped up and splattered on the ground. Instead, they saw him slow his fall enough to roll to the ground and jump onto a horse and gallop off.

"That motherfucker stole my horse!" Jefferson yelled, planting a foot on the window sill, about to launch himself after the king, a pistol suddenly in hand.

"Thomas, stop!" Hamilton pulled him back inside. "It's just a horse."

Jefferson wanted to protest, that horse was important. Hamilton had given it to him. But Hamilton held him in place and closed the window. "I swear, I'm going to hunt that fucker down and smash his face in."

"Just not in the presidential office, don't want to stain your precious rugs," Hamilton mocked.

Jefferson glared as Hamilton cackled. "I still want to know how he got in here," Jefferson said.

***

Months after their encounter with the King, Hamilton and Jefferson sat in their private room late one night. They'd taken to calling it the Candlelight Room since the only light was provided by candles and they were only in there after a terrible night of nightmares or restlessness. Tonight hadn't been that bad, but neither of them could sleep so they had found their own ways to the room for some relaxing tea.

Jefferson had taken his normal place, sprawled out over the chair, legs kicked up over an armrest, Hamilton laid back into the confines of the couch. "We've made some excellent progress," Hamilton commented, "The infrastructure is almost completely repaired, just a few things here and there. The Chinese agreed to give is a few years to get our affairs in order. The Treasury has a bit of money in it. The uprisings have quieted down. All in all, we've done a lot of good in the few years we've been presidents."

"We certainly have," Jefferson said contentedly.

"The reelection coming up will be a breeze. There's no question of our reelection," Hamilton proclaimed with confidence. He stood up and made for the door, "We should get back to work, Thomas."

Jefferson was silent for a moment. "I'm stepping down, I'm not running for president."

"I'm sorry, what?" Hamilton froze, his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm not running for president next year." Jefferson pulled out a bottle of wine from nowhere and poured two glasses. Hamilton walked back over in a daze and sat down on the edge of the couch.

"No, Thomas-"

"*I have done for my country, and for all mankind, all that I could do, and now I resign my soul, without fear, to my God.*"

"Thomas, with King George and the Goveys ready to rebel, is this the best time?"

"I wish to retire to my books and live out the rest of my life as an ordinary citizen of our nation."

"But-"

"Pick up your glass and relax for the night."

Hamilton scooped up the glass. "As far as the people are concerned, you _have_ to serve. You could continue to serve."

"No. This is my last year of service. The people need to remember how to rule themselves."

"Thomas, they will say you're weak."

"No, they'll see the nation is strong."

"Our position is so unique-"

"So let's use it to move them along."

"Why do you have to say goodbye?"

"It's time, Alexander. The nation has to learn to grow beyond its founders."

"It's too soon."

"Alexander, the nation will be fine without me. Just let me have tonight. Relax with me. We haven't had a day off in years." Hamilton reluctantly sat back and drank his wine. "You sulking doesn't count as relaxing," Jefferson chided.

"Fuck you."

Jefferson sighed.

Hamilton knew how much Jefferson secretly hated and loved politics. He knew that Jefferson would be happier in retirement, surrounded by his books and his violin, even if he was still far too young to retire, he guessed when you're rich, age doesn't matter. Hamilton could at least give him this night. Jefferson was right, after all, they hadn't had a night off in years. But there was only one way Hamilton knew he could manage to relax after having that information suddenly thrust upon him. Jefferson wasn't going to be happy about it either. "Fine, you want me to relax?" Hamilton asked, standing, setting his glass down on the table, "Then I'll relax."

Jefferson watched as he strode across the room. "What're doing?" Hamilton turned around with his cello in hand. Oh fuck. "No, no, no," Jefferson began to protest.

"You wanted me to relax, this is the only way how." Hamilton settled into the other chair opposite Jefferson and positioned the cello between his knees as he rosined up his bow.

Shit. Jefferson's eyes were glued to Hamilton's long fingers. Jefferson had yet to see or hear Hamilton play the cello, but he already knew, deep down, that it would undo him completely.

Hamilton's hand slid down the horse hair, holding the rosin to it. What had Jefferson gotten himself into? If Jefferson were smart, he'd leave, right this second, before Hamilton had the chance to play a single note. Or he could at least grab his violin and use that to distract him. Jefferson chugged his wine as Hamilton positioned the bow over the strings. Of course, there was only one song he felt like playing right now.

The first note rang out loud and clear and beautiful. Fuck fuck fuck. It quickly turned into a quickly paced blend of harmony and heaven, Hamilton's hands dancing gracefully along the strings, each note perfect. Good God.

Hamilton was getting really into the song. He hadn't played in ages and found himself relaxing, the knots in his muscles magically undoing themselves. The music flowed from him easily, the song getting faster as he continued. Why hasn't he played in so long? He should've played every night just to relieve his stress. Right as he was reaching the crescendo of the music, the notes building on each other, higher and faster, the cello was practically ripped from his hands. "Hey-" he exclaimed, only to be cut off by hot lips crashing against his.

Jefferson couldn't take it anymore. The crescendo undid every bit of self-control and tore down all the walls he'd so carefully built. He practically flung himself across the room and onto Hamilton who went rigid with surprise but quickly melted, his fingers hooking into Jefferson's belt loops to pull him closer.

No. Jefferson, you can't do this. This isn't right. You're both the presidents. This can't happen. What if King George finds out? What if they're discovered?

He began to pull away, regaining a bit of his control over himself. Hamilton sensed the movement, sat up straighter so the distance between them didn't widen and immediately ran his hands through Jefferson's hair. Jefferson shivered, his retreat halting for a moment before he shook the feeling off and went to try again. Hamilton twined his hands in the sweet spot of Jefferson's curls and tugged ever so lightly. "Goddamnit, Alexander" Jefferson swore, "that's not fair," Hamilton smirked and pulled Jefferson back down, he came easily and willingly, wanting every bit of Hamilton just as Hamilton wanted him.

He tugged on Jefferson's hair again, knowing just what it did to him. Jefferson groaned and bit Hamilton's lip, trying to get access to Hamilton's mouth as his hands slipped under his shirt and danced across his hot skin. Hamilton teased him and made him fight for entrance he so desired. Jefferson hissed and dragged his hand down Hamilton's chest and palmed him through his pants.

Hamilton arched and gasped at the sudden contact after so long of having nothing, Jefferson pressed his advantage and slipped his tongue between Hamilton's lips. Hamilton broke away for just a second, "That's not fair," he growled.

Jefferson grinned ferally, "You started it," and started kissing Hamilton again, this time access was freely surrendered. Hamilton's hands skittered down Jefferson's spine, his skin so hot he could feel it through Jefferson's shirt, it was almost burning.

"Alexander," Jefferson breathed suddenly, breaking off their kiss.

"What is it?" Hamilton asked, fighting for breath.

"I can't fuck you properly in a chair," Jefferson said, grinding his hips against Hamilton.

Hamilton hissed through his teeth. "The table then." He was instantly lifted off the chair and spread out on the table, Jefferson instantly straddling him and grinding against him. Hamilton clutched the side of the table, arching beneath Jefferson. After regaining control over himself, his hands snaked to Jefferson's shirt tugging at the hem. Jefferson's hands caught Hamilton's, suddenly hesitant. "What is it?" Hamilton asked.

Unlike Hamilton, Jefferson couldn't remember going this far before and was suddenly very self-conscious about the tough skin that littered his body. Jefferson blushed slightly at Hamilton's question, unable to admit weakness. He let go of Hamilton's hands and let them continue their work.

Hamilton was now slightly concerned about what Jefferson was worried about so he slowly tugged the shirt over Jefferson's head, just in case Jefferson wanted to stop him. The shirt slipped off and was tossed on the floor. Jefferson watched Hamilton's eyes, searching for a reaction. Ah, so that was it. Hamilton smiled as he gazed at the dark skin of Jefferson's body. He ran his hand lightly over the scar tissue that littered his skin. His finger traced one that had been from a bayonet early on in the war. A knife wound, several bullet grazes. The bullet wound from getting shot when they first met in this life, right in his abdomen. Hamilton's gaze lingered on the newest ones, the ones he hadn't seen yet from the explosion that had torn Jefferson away from him. Metal shrapnel had shredded his skin in places, leaving a patchwork of scars. He ran his hand over them. The one that really hurt Hamilton's heart was the mass of scar tissue right between Jefferson's ribs. Hamilton felt anger rise in his chest. That's where Burr had shot him. That was the wound that took Jefferson away from Hamilton. The fatal wound. Hamilton placed his hand over it, closed his eyes and breathed. He opened them again and looked up at Jefferson, "Beautiful," Hamilton murmured. Jefferson relaxed slightly, had it really bothered him that much? Hamilton shirked off his own shirt and displayed his own set of scars from various battles.

Jefferson ran his hands down them, tracing each one, trying to remember the stories behind them. Hamilton had gotten shot a lot. Mostly clippings, but not all. He'd fought in two more wars than Jefferson. The war of 1812 and the first rebellion. He'd gotten stabbed a few times as well. Oh, the memories. Jefferson grazed over the bullet wound in his shoulder that he'd gotten when they first met and settled on the nastiest patch of tough tissue right over his heart. That was where a musket ball had torn through his him and ended his life whilst he was laughing.

"Did it hurt?" Jefferson asked.

Hamilton smiled. "No. Can't hurt a heart that's been already been lost." His own last words rang through his head, _Ah, you cannot kill me with that shot, my heart died long ago!_ "But I've got it back now, mon cœur."

Jefferson bent down and kissed down Hamilton's jawline lovingly, "I wish I could remember."

Hamilton shut him up by capturing Jefferson's adventuring lips with his own, fisting his hands in Jefferson's hair so he cried out in pleasure, turning it into the hot, intense passion that burned through their veins and pushed them faster and goaded them on. Jefferson's loving kiss turned into teeth digging into Hamilton's neck. Hips grinding desperately against each other, trying to relieve the steadily building pressure as the tension increased around and between them.

Jefferson freed Hamilton of his pants, skipping the teasing, every one of his instincts screaming at them to mate, mark, fuck, and claim. A breath of relief from Hamilton's lips as he felt his confines disappear. Hands reached down and dragged down Jefferson's clothed member. "Mon chéri," Jefferson gasped, "do you have any lube?"

"In my room," Hamilton breathed heavily. To Hamilton's dismay, Jefferson clambered off so Hamilton could go retrieve it. He reluctantly stood from the table and took the secret passageway. When he returned, Jefferson was sitting on the table, stroking and pumping himself, head thrown back and low moans falling from his mouth. Hamilton growled at the sight, "Couldn't wait for me?"

Jefferson pulled him over, kissing him deeply whilst swiping the lube from Hamilton's hands and pushing him back onto the table. "You were taking too long." Jefferson smeared some on his fingers and looked down at Hamilton, "Spread for me, darling." Instructions which were easily complied. Jefferson situated himself over Hamilton as Hamilton wrapped his legs around Jefferson's waist. He slid his clean hand down Hamilton's chest, down, down and grasped Hamilton's cock right as he slipped a finger inside. Hamilton bucked, crying out, tightening around Jefferson's hand as he pumped. Jefferson hissed and added a second finger, leaving very little time for Hamilton to adjust.

A sharp cry tore from Hamilton's throat, clutching the tables tightly as Jefferson worked, expertly drawing out unwilling strangled gasps from him. He wouldn't have any other way. The pain was welcome as it burned through his hips and up his spine. It'd been too long. Far too long and Hamilton was desperate at this point. Insults and jabs were a waste of time.

Jefferson pulled out his fingers and guided his tip to Hamilton's entrance after applying a generous amount of lube. "Ready?" he asked. Hamilton could only nod. Jefferson steadied Hamilton's hips his hands. "Scream for me, darling" he purred right before slamming fully into Hamilton, leaving him no time at all. Let it burn and ache intensely. Let him feel Jefferson fuck him.

Hamilton screamed, bucking against Jefferson, pain intensifying and perfectly welcome. Jefferson rammed into him again mercilessly, endlessly. Hamilton swore, repented, prayed, and damned God all in one sentence as Jefferson pumped inside him. He repositioned himself and angled his thrusts, somehow knowing exactly where to hit to give Hamilton the most pleasure, to make him truly writhe beneath him. Jefferson wrapped one hand around Hamilton's cock again and started pumping as those beautiful moans and cursed continued pouring from Hamilton's pretty mouth. His thumb flicked over the tip. "Thomas-" Hamilton moaned,

"Darling, I'm gonna cum," Jefferson rasped his southern accent thickening, sending shivers down Hamilton's spine as he thrust harder into him.

"Me too," Hamilton gasped. Jefferson tightened his gripped and slammed fully into Hamilton as they both came, their climax ripping screams from their throats and shuddering down their spines. Jefferson slumped down onto the table with Hamilton, panting heavily, pulling him over and kissing him intensely. After a moment of catching their breath, Jefferson scooped up his shirt from the floor and cleaned up the mess. Knowing Hamilton wouldn't be walking anytime soon, he scooped him up and carried him back to Hamilton's room and settle him on the bed. Jefferson wadded up the clothes and threw them in the laundry, he'd take care of that later. Right now, he crawled into the bed beside Hamilton, pulled him to his chest, covered themselves with the heavy blankets, and held him, breathing his scent and rubbing circles into his back until they both fell asleep.

Hamilton was completely satisfied. Thomas may not remember everything they went through, but that didn't mean they couldn't be together. Couldn't love each other just as much as they did before. That was enough.

**\----**


	52. Breakfast

Jefferson woke up at a godawful hour early the next morning, his arms still wrapped around Hamilton like he was subconsciously afraid he would disappear in the middle of the night. Which made absolutely no sense to Jefferson. Why was he afraid of that? He nuzzled Hamilton's neck, tightening his hold slightly.

Hamilton slowly woke up, mumbling and complaining about how Jefferson's hair tickled and that his beard was scratchy. When Jefferson finally deemed Hamilton was conscious enough, he softly spoke, "Alexander, I've got take off before someone walks in to wake us up for work."

Hamilton nodded and rolled to the side of the bed, out of Jefferson's reach. "Go on then." Jefferson threw off the blankets and stood, stretching all his muscles when Hamilton suddenly shot up. "Dear God, do you think anyone heard us?"

Jefferson smirked, "Do you really doubt my architect skills so much? I designed both of our rooms to be soundproof so no one could us screaming ourselves awake from nightmares. And the Candlelight Room is underground and soundproofed as well. I wasn't really thinking it'd be used for that but more for instruments. I didn't want our music to wake the whole Manor at three o'clock in the morning, no one can hear anything down there either. There are a couple of rooms that have soundproofing as well for various reasons. The only thing that we need to worry about is if someone comes looking for us in the middle of the night."

Hamilton sat back in relief, "You know, it's like you almost planned to have secret sexual adventures in the middle of the night. It's all too convenient."

"I had no such thoughts," Jefferson declared, scooping up his clothes from the laundry. It'd be suspicious if Jefferson's clothes were mixed with Hamilton's, they had very identifiable styles. "I'm completely innocent. Excuse me for being considerate of other people who don't want to hear your horrible cello skills."

"Excuse me? Horrible?" Hamilton scoffed, "You just ravaged me over those horrible cello skills."

Jefferson smirked, pulling on his shirt, "And I'd do it again."

Hamilton threw a pillow at him, "Get out and go to your own bed."

Jefferson laughed as he pushed open the wall and fled into the office, closing the door behind him. Instead of going to his room like he had planned, he went down to the kitchen instead. There was no point in going back to sleep since he felt so awake. Amazing how a restful sleep could do that to you, even if it's a short one. He set about making a fresh pot of coffee to take back to his office.

A couple hours later, Madison walked into Jefferson's room to wake him up for the day. It technically wasn't his job, it wasn't anyone's job, but Jefferson had a tendency to try and milk a couple hours of rest. So Madison usually woke him up with a cup of coffee and the newest stack of papers. Only this time, Jefferson's bed was empty and still made. Madison went directly to the office and pushed open the door. Yup, there he was, tirelessly working away, an empty coffeepot beside him. He must've not have been able to sleep again. That was common. Madison often found him like this, except he usually looked more tired. He set down the coffee in front of him, followed by the this of the stack of papers and began to list off his report. Jefferson nodded along as he starting sorting through the stack Madison just plopped down in front of him. Shortly followed by his goodbyes and went to attend to his own matters. Just like every day.

Burr shuffled in about half an hour later, another fresh cup of coffee in hand and another stack of documents and proceeded to go through the same routine. He swiped up the empty mug that Madison had brought him and whatever finished pile of paperwork he had, said his farewell, and left. Just like every other day. Honestly, Burr hated it. It felt kinda like he was an errand boy. Sure, he was the head of another part of government in a different branch, but it was mostly to just break ties in votes and make sure no one killed each other. It was rather boring. Adams and he agreed that it was the most useless job of the entire government. He usually just brought in some paperwork or a book. Nothing seemed to happen.

Angelica made Hamilton make his own coffee. The first couple of days he asked for some it was fine. Those days they didn't have a thing to do yet. But now she ran around trying to keep everything straight and the fact that Hamilton went through a cup every five minutes didn't help. She didn't have time for it. So one day she plopped a coffee machine down on his desk, right next to the latest stack of papers and told him he could make his own damn coffee.

He didn't argue.

Adams and Hamilton had a much different relationship. At first, they got along fine, but Hamilton could remember with perfect clarity how he and Adams got along in their past lives, so the guy just rubbed Hamilton the wrong way. So now, Adams walked in, dropped the papers on his desk, said the shortest version of his report that he could, and then left without another word. Angelica, Madison, and Burr usually stuck around for a minute or two to have a conversation, but Adams didn't. He went straight off to his other work. Jefferson seemed to like him though, and the two of them tended to have lengthy conversations about everything except politics. They disagreed too much on that subject.

Honestly, everyone's schedule was a bit messed up. Jefferson and Hamilton almost never slept, Madison tended to work in short bursts, early morning, extremely late morning, afternoon, evening, and midnight were the typical times he was up and about. Burr preferred late morning to late night. Adams had the normal early riser schedule, and Angelica tended to do whatever she wanted. This really messed with the kitchen staff. They'd given up on the traditional, first thing you do is eat and went for, okay, it's eleven, everyone should be up by now, theoretically, let's serve food. So that's why everyone gathered around the table at eleven fifteen to have the first meal of the day. Typically, they discussed politics, but a lot of the time it was like they were normal people again. A bunch of friends all having breakfast together. It was always really nice. Sometimes Lafayette, Laurens, Mulligan, Peggy, and Eliza would show up if they weren't too busy.

Today just happened to be the day they all showed up in one day. The conversation topic had been everyone congratulating Peggy on her promotion to a general in the army but it seemed to take a sudden turn. A turn Jefferson wasn't fond of because it put him in the spotlight.

"What's this rumor I hear about you stepping down, Jefferson?" Lafayette asked. Everyone around the entire table froze, some of them with their forks halfway to their mouths. "I take it that rumor is not widely known?"

"You're stepping down?" Angelica asked, shocked. "Why hadn't I heard about this?"

"If anyone should know about this, it should be me," Madison said, "So why don't I know about this?"

"I should also have heard this by now," Burr stated.

"Alexander, did you know?" Eliza asked.

Jefferson picked at his food as Hamilton coughed, wiped his mouth with his napkin, took another bite of food and finally answered, "Uh, yes, I did."

"What?!" Angelica nearly shouted.

Madison was about to say something as well but Hamilton cut him off, "He just told me last night. He'd been pondering it and finally made up his mind and hadn't gotten the chance to tell any of you yet," he defended quickly.

That seemed to settle them down slightly. "Lafayette, where did you even hear that rumor?" Jefferson asked.

"Oh, it was mixed in with all the rumors about you and Hamilton fucking each other," Laurens answered for him.

Jefferson nearly choked on his food. Nearly. Adams, however, did, "What?!" he exclaimed.

"Relax, those rumors have been going around the moment we stepped into the presidency, maybe even before," Hamilton replied calmly.

"Well, they need to be silenced!" Adams declared.

"Why?" Jefferson asked.

"It's improper!" Adams' face turned slightly red.

"So what? The people are free to think and speculate what they want. I don't care either way. They could say I'm fucking George William Frederick Hanover III and I wouldn't give a damn," Jefferson said, taking a bite of food.

Adams face reddened even more as Hamilton carried off on what Jefferson said, "I'd have to disagree with you there Thomas, there's no way I could possibly let someone say that. George III is by far the least fuckable person I've ever met. I can't have my name tarnished in such a way. Honestly, I'd hope the people would have better expectations of their president than thinking I'd fuck George. I'd have to at least defend my honor. Publish a pamphlet, issue a duel perhaps."

Everyone laughed except for Adams was growing redder by the second. "I don't know, Alex," Lauren's said around a mouthful of food, "George is pretty cute."

"But his personality is so off-putting," Lafayette sighed. "I went to his house once. Didn't speak English yet, I couldn't understand a word anyone was saying and I know they could speak French if they wanted to. I left in a very rude manner."

"You've been to his house?" Mulligan asked.

Lafayette shrugged, "When you're a rich, French nobleman you tend to get invited places."

"You know who would make a good match for him?" Jefferson said suddenly, "Seabury."

"Oh my God, yes!" Peggy squealed.

"THE IMPROPRIETY!!!" Adam's finally exploded.

"Dear Lord," Jefferson drawled, "Adam's, have you been a Homophobe this whole time?"

"My God, you poor soul, you're in a room of almost entirely gay people," Lauren's said.

"I have no sympathy," Madison said flatly.

"You know what?" Jefferson cut in, "I change my mind. George and Adam's would make a much better match. They could get over their homophobia together."

"You know nothing you're speaking of! George and I are not homophobes, it's just something that needn't be talked about over breakfast!" he said as he rose. Needless Adam's left the room. And probably the building.

Maybe even his office as Vice President.

**\----**


	53. Independence

"Hey, Alexander," Jefferson called over from his desk.

"Yeah, Thomas?" he replied distractedly, shuffling through several papers and reading over a few lines of hurried script.

"You know what today is?" Jefferson asked.

"Ah, national cheese day?" Hamilton guessed, not looking up.

Jefferson sighed. "No. Try again."

"Mhm," Hamilton continued shuffling through paperwork. Jefferson pushed himself up and stalked over to Hamilton, grabbed all his paperwork and dropped it in a neat stack on the floor. "Hey! You asshole!"

"Alexander, it's the fourth of July!" Jefferson said exasperatedly.

"Wait, what, really?"

"We've got to celebrate!" Jefferson exclaimed happily, grabbing Hamilton's hands and pulling him to his feet and swinging him around the office.

"Thomas!" Hamilton laughed. "Doesn't the whole staff do something for the fourth?"

Jefferson halted their spinning. "Sure, but the whole country mostly uses it as an excuse to get drunk. Sure, there's patriotism, but sometimes I wonder how many actually know what the Declaration of Independence is. I was hoping we could do something special. Or at least different. Doesn't have to be complicated. This day marks the birth of the United States, we've got to do something!"

"Don't we have to make a public appearance?" Hamilton asked, extracting his hands from Jefferson's and crossing his arms.

"Ah come on! We can get some old flintlocks like we used to have and go shooting! A horseback ride! Read the official and unedited versions of the Declaration!"

"I don't know Thomas, we've got a lot to do..."

"Annnd," Jefferson lowered his voice and pulled Hamilton against him, "when it gets late, we can celebrate the freedoms we didn't have back then," he purred into Hamilton's ear.

Hamilton felt his body heat up causing Jefferson to smirk. "I'll see if-"

Someone burst through the office door. Hamilton and Jefferson sprung apart like they'd just been electrocuted, Jefferson dove over his desk into his chair and resumed a casual appearance, his legs propped on the desk. Hamilton tripped over the stack of paperwork Jefferson dropped and sprawled across the floor, Jefferson's concern was quickly overpowered by his cackle when Hamilton popped back up with a sheepish grin and a paper stuck to his face, trying to look normal. Hamilton batted the paper from his face and smoothed his hair nervously.

Jefferson's laughter ceased abruptly when he remembered the reason Hamilton just took a spill. Please let them have been looking at a file so they didn't see how close they were, how Jefferson's hands had been gripping Hamilton's ass and holding him to his body.

The person in the doorway had burst through the door, full-on intending to launch right into what he was going to say, but he froze when he just what exactly was happening between the two presidents. It took all of one second for them to launch themselves to opposite sides of the room and Hamilton landing on his ass.

"Sainte merde _(Holy shit)!"_ Lafayette yelled.

Jefferson tensed up, realizing that they had no chance of explaining what just happened and what would inevitably follow. Hamilton, however, visibly relaxed and laid down on the cold floor, trying to calm his racing heart. "Sainte merde, sainte merde, sainte merde!" Lafayette shrieked, dancing into the room and closing the door behind him. "Alex! Thomas! You two finally made up?! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Wait, what?" Jefferson was very confused. What did Lafayette mean? He knew that Hamilton and he had been a thing?

Lafayette grabbed Hamilton's limp arms and pulled him, against his will, to his feet. "Tell me everything! I must know! How long! How! When! Who! What? Wait...nevermind, forget it, just tell me everything." Hamilton groaned.

"Wait a minute." Jefferson stood from his desk and walked over. "You knew? How did you know?"

Hamilton sighed, "Lafayette figured it out a long time ago, during the war, before your accident. He seems to always be able to figure it out for some reason."

"It's not my fault you two are terrible at hiding your relationship. Besides! It's not illegal anymore! Why do you hide?"

"Laf, we're the presidents. The presidents that are the leaders of the bitterest political party rivalries. We're supposed to hate each other." Hamilton explained.

"Ah. Yeah, that makes sense. Plus a scandal between the nation's first presidents. Not good. But still!" Lafayette jumped up and down, "I can't believe you guys finally worked it out!" Lafayette stilled his jumping instantly and smacked them both upside the heads. "What took you two so damn long?!"

"Ow, Laf, that wasn't called for," Hamilton complained.

"Details!" Laf shouted.

"He's starting to sound like King George," Hamilton whispered to Jefferson and they both started laughing. Lafayette shot them an annoyed look.

"What're you doing here anyway Lafayette?" Jefferson asked.

"Oh! Right! I was told that I was invited as a guest of honor to lead the celebration of Independence Day today and that you two were commanded to take the day off."

"Commanded?"

"Oui. I'm commanding you. Go enjoy yourselves!" Lafayette walked to the door. "Or each other," he smiled impishly and ducked out before Hamilton could throw something.

Jefferson looked slightly concerned. "Don't worry, Thomas, Lafayette won't tell anybody," Hamilton reassured

Jefferson let out a breath. "We came this close to being discovered. We _were_ discovered. We can't be so careless."

"You're absolutely right. That's why we are going to sneak out of the Manor in some incognito Kevlar enforced gear, sneak out of the city, and go shooting just like you wanted. Plus a little something I want."

Jefferson grinned.

"How did you dive over your desk, twist through the air, and land perfectly, with your feet propped up and everything?" Hamilton asked.

"Skill, darling. Southern motherfucking Democratic-Republican skill."

"You're so full of yourself."

"I guess I won't have any room for you later then," Jefferson replied smoothly, disappearing through a wall.

"You fucker," Hamilton whispered to himself.

***

Jefferson and Hamilton steered the horses through the forest with an expertise one only got from doing so millions of times during the 1700's. They had just finished racing across the green hills that dotted the landscape, both were out of breath and laughing. Eventually, Jefferson deemed the area acceptable and dismounted, Hamilton following suit. " I hear you're a great shot with these flintlocks," Jefferson commented, looking at the pistols like he'd never seen one before.

"That's right, you're used to your fancy, gleaming, silver pistols. Good luck with these flintlocks. They're a whole other caliber," Hamilton said.

"Is that a challenge?" Jefferson asked, grinning.

Hamilton shrugged, "Either way, I'm gonna kick your cocky ass. I bet you'll only be able to hit one target in an hour and it'll be by pure luck," Hamilton taunted.

"Oh, so that's how it is? You're on you little bastard."

"Bring it, asshole."

"You first then, show me how it's done."

Hamilton set up six targets for each of them. Then he stepped back twenty feet, deciding to make it somewhat easy for Jefferson, not that he'd hit anything anyway. Jefferson fell in line just behind him, watching as Hamilton hefted the heavy pistol in his hand the feel of it brought so many memories. He lifted and aimed the gun carefully. Breathe in, breath out. He fired, the small target obliterating into a million pieces. He turned and smirked at Jefferson. "Beat that."

Jefferson stepped up to the firing line as Hamilton retreated to reload. The grip fit easy in his hand. Strange from this grips of his beloved silver pair. He lifted the heavy weapon, aimed, and fired. The target exploded into fragments and the bullet tore through the center. Jefferson turned around and smiled innocently at Hamilton.

"Beginner's luck," Hamilton growled, shoving his way to the firing line. Jefferson reloaded his gun silently as Hamilton leveled another perfect shot. No way Jefferson could do it a second time. Hamilton turned back to face Jefferson as he stepped back up to the firing line, this time a flintlock in each hand. "What do you think you're doing?" Hamilton asked, "There's no way a politician like can have such mastery over pistols from a war you never fought in."

Jefferson simply smiled as he leveled the two pistols, carefully aimed, and discharged. Two targets disappearing.

"Fuck," Hamilton swore.

"I used to have a pair of Turkish pistols that I adored. Never missed a squirrel from 30 yards with them. I always took them on my walks every day. Plus, I was a big hunter. Don't assume I know nothing of guns simply because I didn't fight in a war."

"Fuck. No wonder you're so good with those devilish pistols of yours." Hamilton holstered his own pistol and reattached it the saddle, Jefferson following suit. "How come you never told me you were such a good shot?"

"I figured you knew and when it was obvious you didn't, I thought, what better way to get Alexander Hamilton to shut his mouth?"

Hamilton stepped closer to Jefferson, "You know, there's a much easier way of doing that."

"Is there? I don't seem to recall."

"Oh, shut up," Hamilton rolled his eyes.

They were standing inches apart. "Make me," Jefferson growled.

Hamilton slid his hands into Jefferson's hair and pulled. A low moan escaped Jefferson's throat, his arms wrapping around Hamilton and pulling them together. "I think I'll just torture you with my hands in your hair and give you nothing more," Hamilton threatened, pulling on Jefferson's hair again.

Jefferson groaned louder, tightening his grip and trying to press closer, his eyes fluttering closed. "Alexander, don't be cruel." He tried to find Hamilton's lips but Hamilton dodged, grinning mischievously, repositioning his hands in Jefferson's hair and started gently scratching the most sensitive spot. Jefferson almost seemed to purr as Hamilton curled his hair around his finger. Until he tugged. Jefferson finally lost it.

He pushed Hamilton against a tree, pinning him so that he couldn't dodge anymore. Hamilton was smirking up at him, mischief still burning in his eyes. "You wicked, wicked thing," Jefferson murmured. Before he could do anything he so desperately wanted, Hamilton's hands pressed against Jefferson's lower zone and started massaging. "Fuck!" he swore, bucking into Hamilton.

"I told you," Hamilton's lips curled into a wicked smile, "I'm torturing you." His hands disappeared against Jefferson's protests. How'd they even get there in the first place? "Happy Independence Day," Hamilton cooed. Jefferson growled.

**\----**


	54. Cloaked in Flags and Shadows

The entire Presidential Manor staff stood outside on the lawn, circling the flagpole as Hamilton and Jefferson attached the colorful cloth to the rope and pullies. Then they wrapped their hands around the rope, looked at each other, and hoisted the flag high into the sky. The wind caught it and it unfurled in all its majesty as it reached the very top of the flagpole. Jefferson and Hamilton stepped back, standing proudly as everyone watched the flag whip around in the wind. It was a truly magnificent sight.

"I'll give you this," Jefferson said to Hamilton, "That flag is a work of genius."

"Worth the extra sleepless nights to put together the contest and sort through all the entries?"

Jefferson rolled his eyes, "Yes. Definitely worth the sleepless nights."

"That flag will be representing us for centuries to come. Wars, Olympics, everything."

"Just don't let it go to your head. You didn't make it after all," Jefferson reminded him.

"I know, I know," Hamilton waved him off. "Credit goes to the artist that put sweat and tears into this design."

"What do you guys think?" Jefferson asked, turning to their friends that stood close by.

"I would've made it black," Madison said, squinting against the vivid flag, "It's so bright."

"Just because you're dark and glum doesn't mean everyone else is," Burr told him, "That's why we hide in dark caves and only come out at night so we don't have to meet them."

Madison nodded like that made sense.

"Hermits, I swear," Laurens huffed, "I personally think it's the perfect blend of brightness. Make the future of the country look optimistic."

"That's just you Laurens. Everything about you is jolly and rainbow-hued," Burr said.

"Oh, leave him alone," Lafayette laughed, "You two are just jealous you can't see the world as brightly as us."

Burr and Madison shared a look, "Yeah, that's totally it," Burr said sarcastically while Madison rolled his eyes.

"Stop it you two. You both know that you'd both wrap it around your shoulders like a cape and run around at the first opportunity," Peggy declared.

"No, I think that's just you, dear," Eliza laid a hand on Peggy's shoulder.

"Really?" Peggy asked, glancing at her other sister for confirmation.

Angelica nodded, "Only you, Peggy."

"Are you kidding? I'd run down Main Street with that around my shoulders!" Jefferson exclaimed.

"You're ridiculous," Hamilton crossed his arms.

"And you're bland with no fashion sense or a fun bone in your body," Jefferson retorted

"Oh?"

"Indeed. Right everyone?"

Everyone immediately agreed. "Well, except when we use to chase girls at bars together," Burr added. Everyone looked at him. "What? He was just as much of a womanizer as I was until he met her," he jerked a thumb at Eliza.

Eliza sighed, "Even after me. It died off with the war."

Hamilton was extremely uncomfortable with the conversation and jumped on the first opportunity to change it. "I can be fun," he protested. Everyone looked at him in disbelief, including the rest of the Manor staff.

"You know what? Fuck you guys. Maybe if I didn't have so much work-"

"You always have work," Mulligan said, "always. You take it with you on your vacations."

"Name one time I did that," Hamilton challenged.

"When Washington discharged you, you literally took over a Governmental command post and then ran it while still writing your little heart out," Burr pointed out.

"Okay but-"

"Nope. They won," Jefferson cut him off.

"Fuck you," Hamilton snapped.

Jefferson raised his eyebrows suggestively where no one else could see. Hamilton ignored him. They all admired the new flag until a bunch of food arrived, to which they sat down and had a picnic on the lawn. As night fell, they each settled back into the grass and stared up at the sky, having a casual conversation and Jefferson stating random facts about stars and planets every now and then.

At one point Hamilton sat up and asked Laurens a question. "Sorry, mon ami, he left a little while ago," Lafayette answered.

"Really? I didn't even notice him leave."

Jefferson sat up and looked around as well. "Hey, where'd, Burr and Madison go?"

"We're right here you asshole," Burr replied waving his hand from almost directly in front of him.

Jefferson started, jumping back a few inches, "Holy shit! How do you two do that?"

"The blackness of our personalities blend us seamlessly into the shadows," Madison answered flatly.

Adams spoke suddenly, spooking them all, "Have you ever considered espionage?"

Everyone looked flatly at Adams before carrying on with their enjoyable night. Adams took it as his cue to leave. Fuck them too, he didn't care anyway. Anything was preferable to their company, he stalked across the lawn and disappeared inside the Manor. Everyone else laughed over something Mulligan said, hardly even noticing.

***

"Holy shit, I didn't realize how close the elections are," Hamilton commented when he saw campaign posters start to go up. They were in their office, organizing all their papers in the file cabinets along the walls.

"Yep. These four years were the longest and shortest years I've ever experienced," Jefferson said.

"That doesn't even make sense," Hamilton replied.

"Yes, it does."

Hamilton rolled his eyes. "Who do you think is going to be elected then?"

"Adams or Burr," Jefferson replied easily.

"You mean and," Hamilton corrected.

"No, there's only going to be one slot. Your reelection is guaran-" Jefferson stopped mid-sentence and spun to face Hamilton who couldn't keep a straight face when he saw Jefferson's reaction, he couldn't help but grin. "You're not running," he said, realization creeping into his voice.

"I can take a few years off."

"That is literally impossible for you, Alexander."

"Don't pretend that you don't have a hard time sitting still too."

"Are you really?" Jefferson asked, still in disbelief.

Hamilton shrugged, "I can retire from politics early. It's not like we'll need jobs. We can spend every second together."

"Right..." Jefferson trailed off.

"What is it?"

"Nothing! I'm so happy to hear you say that," Jefferson only half lied. He loved that Hamilton was going to follow him into retirement, but there was a problem. "I guess that does mean that it'll be Burr and Adams," Jefferson changed the subject.

"Shit. I don't think I can stand by and let that happen," Hamilton stood and went for his desk. Jefferson leaped after him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away. "Thomas! What're you doing? I've got to write something."

"No," Jefferson said sharply, "You're not. You're not going to touch that pen or write a single word against Adams or Burr. Not again." Hamilton froze, realizing what he almost repeated. "You're never doing that again or so help me God I will lock you in a dungeon and not let you out until Burr and Adams are out of the presidential office after four or eight years of service. You're never doing that again. Promise me."

Suddenly Hamilton was reliving that day all over again. The dim lighting of dawn slowly bleeding into the world, the low fog that floated off the river and swirled at his feet. The heavy weight of his pistols. Burr watching him from across the field, gauging each other and trying to ascertain what the other was thinking. The paces, each footstep heavier than the last, the dread that was slowly filling his chest. Lining up the sights. Jefferson stepping in front of him. All three of them, Burr, Hamilton, and Jefferson screaming wait as their guns discharged. Hamilton's in the air and Burr's causing a sickening impact. Jefferson collapsing. Blood. His limp body in Hamilton's arms.

He tried to shake off the haunting memory but it still clung to him as he turned to face Jefferson, his wrist still in his unrelenting grip. He was taken aback when he saw a tear streak down Jefferson's face. Hamilton reached up and wiped the tear away and pressed a soft kiss to Jefferson's lips. "I promise."

Jefferson's grip relaxed and he loosed a breath. He forced a small smile for Hamilton's sake and then went back to the files.

**\----**


	55. Elections and Side Effects

Just as Jefferson predicted, Adams and Burr were both elected.

Not easily though.

The entire nation fought against Hamilton's and Jefferson's resignation, trying to keep them in office for another four years. Hamilton would've stayed if Jefferson hadn't been bent on leaving. So they did. When the ballots came through, they still won the majority even though they weren't even on it. They wrote in Jefferson's and Hamilton's names manually. They refused of course and the people raged that they weren't going to be resuming their presidency. Adams wrote a very strongly worded letter to Hamilton and Jefferson about how they were goading the people to defy Adam's election. Burr, wisely, kept out of it, not wanting to repeat exactly what Hamilton and Jefferson chose to avoid. Burr noticed Hamilton's lack of publishments of slanders against him and kept the peace, though shaky, between them. Burr was closer to Jefferson than Hamilton.

Hamilton was outraged by Adam's letter, he was ready to stomp out and challenge him to a duel or something similar, but Jefferson held him back. The people, however, found out about Adam's letter and were outraged that he dare slander Jefferson and Hamilton, the two leaders of the Revolution, formers of the New Constitution, keepers of the peace, creators of the nation. They kept the nation afloat single-handedly.

For a price. A price Hamilton had yet to discover.

The rumors surrounding Hamilton's and Jefferson's relationship were even thicker than they had imagined. Turns out, only a small portion of the nation claimed them to be involved in a scandal. The majority actually shipped them together, to their shock, and referred to them with a ship name. They didn't understand that at all. Only when Jefferson declared that Adam's letter was only written out of concern for the nation and had no ill intent toward themselves did the people accept him, begrudgingly. Hamilton was not happy with Jefferson's declaration.

Hamilton and Jefferson spent their last few days in the Presidential Manor packing up all their stuff and sealing all the secret passageways, not permanently, but just so it would be nearly impossible for Adams to discover them. Little did they know, Burr had almost every single one discovered. Almost.

"I assume that we'll be moving into your place here in D.C?" Hamilton asked as they shoved the last of their boxes into the back of a van.

"Do you think it's wise for us to move in together right after the presidency? It's rather obvious."

"Thomas, most of the nation wants us to be together anyway. I don't see what the problem there is."

"What about the rest? It's always those people who scream the loudest. We'll be involved in a scandal before you know it. Then you won't be able to use your influence at all."

"Thomas, I know that's not your real reason. Why don't you want to move in together? We've lived together before and pretty much were for the four years we were presidents."

Jefferson sighed, he wasn't getting out of it. "I was going to sell my house."

"What?! Why?! It's perfectly located. In the capital, close to everything important, not terribly far from the park. We could easily stay involved."

"I was thinking of getting a cabin in the woods instead," Jefferson replied innocently, shoving another box into the van. Most of it was books and clothes.

"No way. We wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Adams and Burr from a cabin in the woods."

"Damn it, fine. I can't afford it anymore, Alexander," Jefferson finally cracked.

"Wait, what?"

"I can't afford to pay for that house. I have to sell it and get something smaller and more removed."

"But, why? How?" Hamilton was super confused. Jefferson was one of the richest people in the country. In the world.

"Money isn't inexhaustible. Not even for me. Government building is expensive. Unimaginably expensive. I rebuilt the infrastructure and paid to keep all the public services to remain running until we got enough income to support ourselves. Not to mention countless other things. So yeah, I'm pretty much broke now. I can't keep the house. Madison's pretty much in the same boat."

"What about your lands in the midwest? The farms? The oil fields? All that stuff you have? Surely that's worth something?"

"Sold it."

"Shit, Thomas, this is something you should've told me about!"

"At the time, it didn't concern you. It's not that big of a deal anyway. We just won't be able to live in luxury and we'll have to get jobs. We both studied law, we can go into that again."

Hamilton's mind was racing. He left the presidency to spend a couple years with Jefferson without a worry in the world. Travel. Explore. Live. Not work. Sure, he'd worked his fair share and wasn't even the money he was upset about. It was that Jefferson hadn't told him until there was no way he could get around it. After Hamilton left the presidency. "What about Congress. They'd be more than willing to pay you back."

"Alexander, the money has never been very important to me. I've always been willing to trade my fortune for freedom and that's exactly what I did and I don't regret it all."

"But you don't have to. Congress will reimburse you for every penny you spent building and upholding the government. We just need to confront them. They'll pay it back and then we can do exactly what we planned to do after we left the presidency."

"Planned? We have plans? What're these plans you're talking about? I haven't heard any of them. And I won't let Congress reimburse me until they've worked on China's debt some. That's more important."

Hamilton threw up his hands in exasperation. Why would Jefferson just write Congress and get his money back? They couldn't even refuse him if they wanted to. If the people found out that Congress refused to repay Jefferson, there'd be riots. "Fine. We'll figure something out."

Jefferson smiled slightly. "We'll be able to stay in my house until it sells. And I do still have a couple investments that will hopefully pull through and not collapse."

***

When Jefferson and Hamilton stepped out of the van and stopped in front of Jefferson's house, there was a sizable crowd gathered, wanting to talk, to meet, to touch the legendary people before them. Hamilton wanted to get inside but Jefferson seemed content with talking with the strangers that surrounded his house.

"Mr. Jefferson, is Hamilton living with you?"

"Hamilton? That bastard is helping me move back in." He said the next part loud enough for everyone to hear, "and I'm afraid if this crowd remains, he might not be able to return home. Dear God, can you imagine?" Jefferson laughed, "Imagine that short-tempered bastard stay the night at my house." Jefferson proceeded to go inside with his boxes and Hamilton with other boxes as the crowd practically made an immediate resolution to force the presidents to fall in love by trapping Hamilton in the house with Jefferson. So none of them budged from his doorstep so that Hamilton would be forced to stay the night.

"You planned that, didn't you?"

Jefferson shrugged, unpacking a box. "I don't think our relationship should be made public yet and the best way for it to happen is for the people to want it badly enough so that when we do make it public, they'll feel like it was them all along."

"Since when did you become so scheming?"

"I'm always scheming, you just never notice."

"So, what's the plan for tomorrow night then?"

Jefferson smiled. "I'll bet the people take shifts as long as we associate with them enough. Open the door, look shocked that they're still there, sign some stuff, talk amiably, and go back inside. Everyone will want to meet us and talk to us. I'll bet it'll last us a couple months and by then, we'll move out of the city anyway."

"$200 says your plan fails," Hamilton said immediately.

"You're on."


	56. Prisoners of the Mob

It worked. It fucking worked.

Hamilton had no idea how Jefferson pulled it off, but the plan fucking worked. Jefferson would open the door in the morning, plaster on a surprised face and say, "Oh! You're all still here?" Then he'd look over his shoulder and yell to Hamilton, "They're all still here, you won't be getting through. Hey, you ungrateful bastard! You should come say hi!" Then he'd turn back to the crowd and smile charmingly, "What're you all still doing here? It's been a couple days and I'm getting sick of his company," Jefferson jerked a thumb at Hamilton as he emerged from the doorway.

"Damn, I guess that means I'm stuck with this asshole another day," Hamilton said. He stepped out of the doorway some and started talking to people and shaking hands just as Jefferson was. The people loved it. Somehow, Jefferson, with his charming smile and disarming personality, managed to get someone to volunteer to go on a grocery run for them. How was that even possible? No man should have that power.

***

Hamilton scrolled through his phone, looking at the news. "Well, the slandering has begun," he commented.

"Oh really?" Jefferson asked.

"It seems I didn't even have to start anything. The people are dragging Adams through the mud."

"They're just upset we left. It's backlash. It would've happened to anyone that claimed the presidency. Anything on Burr?"

Hamilton scrolled down, "Not really. He seems to be keeping to himself mostly. Oh, wait, here's something. It says that they're being accused of conspiring with King George."

"No way."

"Yep. Adams once said the same thing about me. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Hey, Alexander,"

"Yep?"

"You owe me $200."

"Fuck."

***

"Why is there such a big crowd?!" Lafayette yelled from outside Jefferson's house, standing at the edge of the mass of people.

They all turned. "MARQUIS DE LAFAYETTE!" they cheered.

"Oh merde," Lafayette swore as the crowd pulled him in. Why did he have to be such a good looking war hero? "What's going on here?" he asked after the crowd calmed down a bit.

"We're forcing Hamilton and Jefferson to spend time together," someone answered.

"Why? Didn't they just spend four years having to stare at each other's ugly faces?"

"Yeah, but they haven't fallen in love yet."

Lafayette stared at the speaker blankly before breaking into fits of laughter. "That's what you're all trying to do?" he choked out around his laughing, "Hook them up?" He just couldn't stop laughing, he was doubled over, this was just too good.  
He straightened and his laughter stopped abruptly. "I love this plan. I want in. Let me inside and I'll work my magic of matchmaking."

The crowd cheered and let Lafayette pass through and to the door where he knocked loudly. "Lovebirds! Let me in!" The door swung open to reveal Jefferson and Hamilton

"Lafayette? What're you doing here?" Hamilton asked.

"Matchmaking. I demand you two kiss in front of this crowd.

"Dear God no," Jefferson said.

Hamilton spoke at the same time, "Fuck that shit. I'm not kissing that asshole."

Lafayette turned back to the crowd, "Sorry everybody! I tried!" he yelled before shoving Jefferson and Hamilton inside and closing the door behind them. Silencing the shouting of the crowd.

"What that hell was that all about, Lafayette?" Jefferson asked.

"They only way they'd let me through was if I told them I'd make you a couple."

"What?"

"I was almost imprisoned in that mob forever! My looks are just too much for them to let go of!"

Hamilton chuckled, "Looks like you're stuck here like I am now."

"Fuck. I just came to tell you I was heading home to France soon."

"Welp, that's not happening anytime soon," Jefferson said, "The crowd won't allow it."

"Why can't you two just kiss and get it over with? You're together anyway. Make the crowd happy."

"Not yet Laf, the timing has to be perfect," Jefferson stated.

"You've always been overly dramatic," Hamilton said.

"It's one of my best traits," Jefferson smiled.

"It certainly did help at the rally. Remember how you appeared on stage like ghosts?" Lafayette asked, remembering times that seemed like a lifetime ago. Hamilton smiled, thinking of it as well.

Jefferson sighed, "No. I can't say that I do."

Shit. Hamilton had pretty much forgotten. Them being together again made it seem like nothing ever changed. That everything was normal. He'd completely forgotten. How could he forget such a thing? Just because he and Jefferson were together and happy again, didn't mean Jefferson had recovered his memories. All he knew of Hamilton was what he'd been told and discovered himself. Fuck. How could Hamilton have forgotten?

Hamilton laid a hand on Jefferson's shoulder, "It's okay. It wasn't that big of a deal anyway."

"It's not okay!" Jefferson snapped, "We stole a fucking tank and I can't remember! How can I not remember that? And there's so much I'm missing between the two of us, so many stories and memories we shared that I don't have anymore, how is that okay?!"

Hamilton had no idea Jefferson's memory loss still bothered him so much. He planted his feet in front of Jefferson and grabbed his face, holding it gently between his two hands. "It's okay because we have an entire lifetime to build new ones. I don't care that you can't remember how we used to spend our days as long as you and I can spend more together."

"I care," Jefferson whispered, "We always seem to be running, running as fast as we can to keep ahead of time because we seem to get so little of it. That fact that I can't remember every single day I've ever spent with you tears me apart."

Hamilton softly kissed Jefferson. When he pulled away, Jefferson seemed a little better. "Now that's the quality shit I'm talking about!" Lafayette said happily, "Now go do it again in front of the crowd."

"Can I punch him?" Hamilton asked.

"No," Jefferson said. "No, you may not."

"Damn."

"I'll make dinner!" Jefferson said as he strode into the kitchen.

"Oui! Make my favorite dish mon ami!" Lafayette called.

"You got it!"

Macaroni. That's Lafayette's favorite fucking dish? Hamilton stared at the bowl before him, filled to the brim with his greatest enemy. "We meet again," he said ominously. Jefferson didn't remember how much Hamilton hated macaroni and Hamilton wasn't about to remind him of it right now.

So he was going to eat it. Every bite. And he was going to enjoy it.


	57. City Streets

 

Jefferson was going stir crazy.

As much as he loved having Hamilton around and now Lafayette, he couldn't last much longer confined to the house. His morning walks have turned into him tirelessly pacing the hallways and running up and down the stairs over and over again. His pacing drove Hamilton crazy who in turn would drag Jefferson in his exercise room and set him loose on the treadmill or something. That was where Jefferson spent most of his time lately. He and confinement didn't mix well.

His nightmares were worsening with every passing day. His own halls were turning into stone walls of a prison he couldn't even remember.

Hamilton was much better off. He typically didn't leave the house for days on end when he had a lot of documents to write. He wasn't a naturalist like Jefferson was, morning walks weren't his thing. It was mostly normal for him, except his increasing concern for Jefferson.

Lafayette had been there for a couple days now and seemed perfectly fine. He found Jefferson's secret wine stash and the two of them poured a couple glasses and would laugh about French things. Hamilton tended to tune those conversations out.

Hamilton finally pulled Jefferson aside one day, "Thomas, I should really get out of this house. I've stuff to do in the outside world." In reality, he just wanted to leave so the crowd would disperse. He knew they wouldn't leave entirely, but the numbers would significantly lessen to where Jefferson could actually walk out his door.

Jefferson nodded, thinking of ways to smuggle Hamilton out of the house. "Tonight, we crawl out the window Assassin's Creed style. You and I could easily sneak past the crowd in the dark."

***

After the sun sank below the horizon and darkness fell, Jefferson and Hamilton slipped out of the window and scaled down the side of Jefferson's house, blending in with the shadows as they crept by the crowd that for some reason, took night and day shifts. Lafayette had chosen to stay behind, standing suspiciously close to Jefferson's wine collection with a grin on his face.

"Wow, they're really intent on getting us together," Hamilton commented in a hushed whisper.

"You wouldn't believe how far some shippers go," Jefferson replied, his voice low as they stole across the street.

"I bet you there's fanfiction," Hamilton smirked, the moonlight just catching his lips, concealing the rest of his face in shadows.

"Shit, your probably right."

After they put enough distance between themselves and the crowd, they resumed walking down the street like normal people. But to the rest of the community of the area they were walking through, they looked like a couple of rich snobs that found themselves lost in the wrong neighborhood. They didn't seem to notice how with every step they took, the streets got rougher and the night seemed to grow darker, almost like someone turned the air into ink that only the flickering street lights could cut through, barely.

Hamilton felt right at home and practically didn't notice the change in scenery. He grew up in streets like this, these streets were his home until he managed to claw his way out and rise to the top. Jefferson on the other hand, had an entirely different experience with streets like these, none. He'd been raised in a wealthy family and inherited a good sized chunk of land from his father when he passed away when Jefferson was only fourteen. He improved it and made his family go from well off to vastly wealthy. But despite his soft upbringing, the world turned Jefferson hard, streets like this didn't bother him. He'd seen enough blood to make this look like a park.

Funny really, at the age of fourteen both Hamilton and Jefferson were pretty much running companies. The only difference was that Jefferson owned his and got to keep all the profits whereas Hamilton used it to get out of the hell he was living in.

So when the stranger stepped out in front of them, pistol raised, Jefferson and Hamilton just came calmly to a stop and studied the person before them. He was haggard looking, his clothes were rags and his face was covered in layers of dirt and grease and a matted beard to top it all off. Jefferson cringed, ever heard of personal hygiene? There's gotta at least be a river nearby to wash in. Seriously. The ocean wasn't far off.

Hamilton was looking for openings in the man's defense and had already calculated fourteen possible actions. Jefferson counted sixteen.

"Money and belongings. Now," the man demanded.

Hamilton looked at Jefferson, an eyebrow raised in question. Jefferson shook his head slightly in answer.

The man mistook Jefferson's reply to Hamilton as a refusal to give up his belongings. "It wasn't a question you rich bastards," he sneered, "Now hand over everything you got and I'll let you walk away."

"Can I at least deck him?" Hamilton asked, completely ignoring the mugger.

"No, Alexander, you know that's not the best course of action here," Jefferson replied, facing Hamilton, on hands on his hip and the other atop the cane he was using to support his weight as he leaned against it. The robber had no idea what to make of the situation, he wasn't lying, he would shoot them, but he'd never come across rich people who weren't flustered and blubbering. It threw him off.

"I swear, I can have him on the ground and begging for mercy in less than three seconds," Hamilton insisted.

"I'd bet two, but no."

"Why not?" Hamilton complained, "So you can do it yourself? I called dibs first."

"I know how much you want to punch this guy, you're a fun-sized package of rage and anger, but that is not how we're handling this," Jefferson replied sternly. He wasn't budging on this.

"Quit bickering like an old married couple and hand everything over! I will not hesitate to shoot you!" the mugger yelled.

Hamilton and Jefferson turned their attention back to him as if they'd completely forgotten he was there. Jefferson smiled one of his most charming smiles, "What's your name?" he asked.

"Like I'd tell you," the man scoffed, "you'll just turn around and turn me into the police."

"Okay, fair enough. My name is Thomas."

"Common name, I like that," the man said, "Now stop chatting me up and give me your fucking wallet already."

"Hey!" Hamilton snapped, "Watch your fucking language in front of the fucking ex-president you asshole."

Jefferson facepalmed as the other man paled. "Alexander, how many times do I have to fucking tell you, quit telling everyone I'm the fucking president!"

"Hey! I said ex this time, it's entirely different."

"My God, your insufferable, I'm going to shove your face into that dumpster," Jefferson threatened, pointing to a nearby dumpster.

"Yeah? Try me!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?" the mugger yelled.

Hamilton whirled on him, "I SAID DONT FUCKING CUSS IN FRONT OF JEFFERSON YOU CUNT!" Hamilton launched at the mugger right as a gunshot went off.

A body thudded to the ground.

"Alexander!"


	58. Clues

 

"Alexander!" Jefferson yelled, "What did I say?!"

Smoke curled up from Jefferson's pistol, reflecting the moonlight. His arm still raised, aimed at where the mugger had stood a moment before. Hamilton shook his fist, slamming your fist into someone's face actually hurt.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted so rashly." He wasn't that sorry. "Did you just shoot that guy's pistol out of his hand?"

Jefferson shrugged, holstering his gun. "Did you really just slug that guy in the face?"

Hamilton grinned. "It's his fault."

"You're washing your hand before you touch me again," Jefferson said.

Hamilton snickered. "So what were you planning to do if I hadn't punched him?"

In response, Jefferson pulled out his wallet, stuffed a couple hundred dollars in his coat pocket, shrugged it off, and draped it over the unconscious man's body.

"What the hell, Thomas? That guy just tried to rob us at gunpoint!"

"And going by his looks, it seems as if he really needed the money. Now he can take a shower, a good night of rest, and maybe a job. He won't be going back to robbing anytime soon."

"Thomas, we're out of money, we can't afford to give it out willy-nilly."

"We've more money than him and he's surviving," Jefferson pointed out. "We'll be fine. Come on, let's go before someone decides to investigate the gunshot."

Hamilton grumbled but followed.

Hamilton and Jefferson walked around the city until dawn, both enjoying the sense of freedom after being confined to the house for so long. Jefferson more than anyone. But as the sun's pale rays greeted them, they said their farewells and went their separate ways. Hamilton heading to visit his friend, John Laurens, and Jefferson heading back to the mob.

His cane clacked against the concrete just like it did forever ago, before the second war, before he met Hamilton for the first time...again, before he was thrown in prison. All he was missing was his magenta coat and the shine of happier days before everything went to shit. It threw him violently back in time to better days. Happier.

No, not quite. Emptier. There wasn't much wrong, but he had so much missing from his life, something he'd fight through as many bloody wars to keep. Hamilton. He'd never give him up. His cane smacked smartly against the concrete. Jefferson sighed.

The sun had fully risen by the time he made it back to his house and the crowd was waiting in excitement for his usual morning appearance at the door. He stood on the other side of the street and smiled to himself, watching as the minutes ticked by, the crowd getting anxious as he didn't appear.

"Where is he?" someone asked.

"He should be here by now," another stated.

"Maybe he and Hamilton finally fucked and they're sleeping in," one said. Well okay then.

Jefferson decided it was time. He snuck right up next to the crowd, clacked his cane against the sidewalk loudly, leaning his tall, lanky body against it, crossing his arms over it, leaning forward, and drawled in his thick southern accent, "What're y'all still doin' here?" The entire crowd froze and then turned to face him all at once. It was kinda creepy actually. Jefferson grinned his most charming grin, flashing his white teeth, "Are y'all making sure the poor Marquis de Lafayette doesn't drink all my wine?" Jefferson drawled.

"When-"

"How-"

"-did he get out?" they were all mumbling. "Where's Hamilton? Is he still inside?"

"Ladies, Gentlemen, Gentlepeople," Jefferson began, "Hamilton was very clear. He called me a bigoted asshole and demanded me find a way for him to get out. Now, I being the gentleman that I am, coupled with the fact that I can't stand the guy, helped him escape."

The crowd was grumbling unhappily. "However, to make up for any distress I caused you, I'll point out that he'll probably be more inclined to be nice to me now, even if I'd rather throw macaroni in his face. Plus! Free autographs!"

***

Hamilton knocked on Laurens' door and it swung open a moment later, the doorway framing Laurens leaning against the wood, wearing no shirt whatsoever, showing off his toned body from the years of war they'd both gone through, scars proudly on display. The one that had killed him in his past life was by far the most gruesome. Just like Hamilton's and Jefferson's were. Hamilton suddenly wondered what would trigger Lauren's memories.

"Alex? I didn't expect you to be dropping by," he grinned cheekily.

Hamilton shrugged, "Yeah, it was kinda a split second decision. I thought I should come say hi. We haven't spent any time together for ages."

Laurens propped his hip against the door frame and crossed his arms, an eyebrow raising, "Oh? I was starting to think you didn't want me around anymore," he said.

"Nonsense. What say you and I grab a couple of beers and catch up? I haven't seen you since you took off at the flag celebration," Hamilton grinned.

Laurens returned it and stepped out of the doorway, gesturing Hamilton inside. He shut the door and hurried to the living room. "Sorry if it's a bit of a mess. I wasn't expecting you, as I said earlier," he explained, scooping all sorts of different papers and tucking them away. Hamilton caught a glimpse of one.

"Are those blueprints? I didn't know you were interested in architecture."

Laurens smiled, "I'm not really, Adams asked me to collect these forever ago."

"Oh, that's right! You're part of his cabinet, congrats!" Hamilton clapped him on the shoulder and raided his fridge for a couple of beers. Laurens had served as a Representative in the House while Hamilton was president but now he was serving under Adams.

Laurens chuckled. "Yep. Sometimes I think he's a little crazy though."

"Don't I know it," Hamilton muttered, handing Laurens a bottle.

"No kidding. He has these random periods set aside for meetings or something, but I never see the guest arrive and there's never any record of them being there. It's weird."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and the other day I could've sworn I saw Seabury but he disappeared. Almost magically. Hey, you don't think he could've been using one of the secret passages you were telling me about?"

Hamilton thought for a moment, "Not unless someone told him about them, they're pretty much impossible to spot unless you're actively looking for them. He wouldn't have even known they existed."

"Unless someone told him," Laurens took a drink of his beer.

God damn, he was right. "Are you sure you saw Seabury?"

Laurens shook his head, "It could've been Charles Lee, or maybe even Thomas Conway. They all look the same to me. Traitorous. Cowardly. Little cunts. Hey! Kinda like King George!" Laurens laughed as he took another drink.

"Yeah," Hamilton said distractedly, thinking.

"You know, I bet Burr would fit in perfectly with them."

Something clicked in Hamilton's mind. He set down the beer suddenly, "Sorry, John, I gotta go," Hamilton said, standing and going for the door.

"What?" Laurens asked, confused, "Why? I thought we were hanging out today?"

"I know, I'm sorry," Hamilton called over his shoulder as he opened the door, "I've gotta talk to Thomas. We'll get together later! I promise!" Hamilton was out the door.

Laurens sat back into his couch grumbling to himself, "Stupid motherfucking Jefferson, he can shove off for all I care."

**\----**


	59. The Plot Thickens

 

By the time Hamilton got back to Jefferson's house, he was sucking down as much air as he could into his lungs. He'd run all the way there. Luckily, the crowds had dispersed upon discovery of Hamilton's absence. Good. Hamilton pounded on the door, "Thomas! Open the goddamned door!" he yelled between breaths.

The door swung open a moment later, "Jesus Christ, Alexander? What the fuck? What is it?"

"I think I know- how King George- got inside the Manor," he panted, resting his hands on his knees, trying to support himself.

"Holy shit. Come inside, I'll get you some water, you catch your breath."

Hamilton nodded and immediately went for Jefferson's couch, thankful for the softness as he collapsed into it. Jefferson handed him a cold glass of water which he gulped down greedily. As he finished, he wiped his mouth and asked, "Where's Laf?"

"At his house, nursing a hangover over. He just about emptied my wine cellar."

Hamilton nodded.

"Now spill. How did King George get in?"

"It just a theory, but either Adams or Burr."

"What?" Jefferson was shocked. "No way. There's no way."

"Just listen to what I have to say for fuck's sake," Hamilton snapped. Jefferson rose his hands in surrender. "King George got in through the passageways-"

"Impossible. He'd have to know they existed first, not to mention countless hours actually locating them," Jefferson interrupted.

"If you let me finish, you'd understand," Hamilton hissed through his teeth.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Please continue."

"Someone would've had to let George in from the inside. It's the only logical explanation. Someone in our cabinet or a vice president, they were the only people who knew about the passages. It had to be one of them. They let the King in and led him to our office. "

"Okay, even if one of our cabinet members were willing to commit treason, which they aren't, they would've had to discover the passages first and I don't think any of them discovered that many," Jefferson reasoned.

"Adams and Burr are the presidents now. Don't you think it strange how our greatest enemies were elected at the same time?"

"It's just coincidence-"

"Adams requested the blueprints from Congress through John when he was a Representative of our administration and Adams was vice. And again now that he's president. And there's been sighting of Seabury appearing and disappearing almost magically."

"Those blueprints wouldn't give anything away unless they were put together just right, I designed them you know. Give me some credit. And I'm sure Seabury is just a rumor, " Jefferson said easily.

"Angelica told me that Burr moves through the Manor like a ghost. In one room one second and on another floor the next."

"Okay, so? Angelica has figured out a few passages herself."

"But Burr is like a master. And we both know he's not exactly loyal. "

"What'd'ya mean?" Jefferson asked.

God, Hamilton loved that drawl. He shook the distracting thoughts from his head. "Burr shot you."

"And deeply regretted it."

"And then went on to try and turn Texas into an empire and commit treason. Just because he's sorry for shooting you doesn't clear him of the fact that he did shoot you and that didn't seem to stop him from continuing and committing treason a second time. "

"Okay, so he has some priorities mixed up," Jefferson relented. "But this is a different life. He's different."

Hamilton rose an eyebrow. Burr hadn't changed in the least. Not in the slightest. "It's either him or Adams. Or maybe even both."

"You're just saying that because you don't like them."

"BURR FUCKING SHOT YOU!"

Jefferson sighed, "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"And why should I?" Hamilton asked hotly.

"Alexander, it was over two hundred years ago!"

"He killed you, Thomas! Can't you remember what that felt like?" Hamilton snapped.

"It was painful and it haunts my dreams, but I'm the one that died, not you. It should be my choice to decide if he gets to be forgiven or not," Jefferson argued.

Hamilton threw up his hands, "Fine. But let me tell you how it felt for me. Imagine the ground beneath tilts, turning sideways. You're slipping. Sliding down into to darkness and everything you try and grab onto crumbles like ashes in your hands. You fall and fall and fall and just when you get used to the emptiness, the darkness that haunts you, you plummet into the cold abyss of water. You can't see and you're drowning. Your lungs are burning as you gasp for air but all you get is the pain of water forcing its way down your throat, smothering you. Only you don't die because you're not actually drowning and you're breathing just fine. No, it only feels like you are. Other than pain, you can't feel a thing. It's empty. Life doesn't shine. Color means nothing, nor does good food or a warm fire. Everything is cold. And on the rare occasion, you do feel something, it's crushing grief. It's your chest caving in because there's an empty cavity where your heart used to be. Everyone tries to get you to smile but all you really want is the warm embrace of someone who is cold and six feet under. So you settle for silence. The deafening silence that tears a mind apart. You push everyone away and walk the empty halls of a house you used to wake up in every morning with the love of your life. Expecting them to be around any corner but you know you they're not now will they ever be. Can you imagine? The one person that kept you going through all the bullshit we called life, suddenly ripped from you?" Hamilton could feel the hot, angry tears streaking down his face. His hands clenching and unclenching. There are moments that words just can't reach. Impossible to properly describe.

"Alexander-"

"And the only thing keeping you going, keeping you alive day after day of eternal hell is the thought that out there, somewhere, walking the earth, is the murderer that took you away. Burr took you away from me and I swore my vengeance. So no, I can never forgive him for what he did to us. To you. The only reason he's still alive is because you're holding me back from pulling the trigger. You were gone and that's all I had left to keep me going, you can't take that away from me!"

Hamilton was breathing heavily, he angrily wiped the tears from his face. Jefferson pulled Hamilton into a soft, warm embrace, smoothing down his hair and drying the tears on his face. "Shh, Alexander. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry that I left you all alone. You don't really blame Burr, do you? It's my fault that I stepped in front of you. It's my fault I left you. It's my fault that you had to go through that pain."

Hamilton broke, balling his fist into Jefferson's coat and crying uglily. Horrid sounds ripped from his throat and Jefferson held him through it all.

How did it get to this?

**\----**


	60. Check

 

"-concluding, outwardly, public homosexual affections to be totally outlawed," Hamilton finished reading the draft of the bill Adams was currently dealing with.

"It's not outlawing homosexuals completely, but it's still disgusting," Thomas stated. He was lying on the couch, head propped up on an armrest as Hamilton lies on top of him, reading the bill from Jefferson's phone. Burr had texted it to him.

"It sounds like King George," Hamilton spat, tossing Jefferson's phone on the floor by the couch.

"Are you still going on with your theories?" Jefferson asked.

"Yes. If anything this only confirmed them."

"Remember the Sedition Acts he passed during his first presidency? These are the modern version of those."

"What? No, I agreed with those."

"They took away the freedom of speech, of the press. Not to mention making it harder for people to become free citizens of the United States," Jefferson reminded him.

"All necessary precautions for the upcoming war with France. This is completely different."

"Unnecessary precautions. They were refugees fleeing from the bloody streets of the French Revolution, not spies."

"I thought you liked the French Revolution?" Hamilton smirked. Goddamnit, Jefferson hated getting into these arguments with Hamilton, only because he loved them so much. They usually turned into heated, passionate debates and then paired with the fact that Hamilton was on top of him...

Not fair.

"I liked the idea behind it. I don't like what it turned into," Jefferson answered.

"They may have been refugees, but the acts were put in place to prevent spies and terrorists and the lot. If they weren't guilty, they had nothing to worry about."

"You just like them because if anyone refuted anything the government said, they'd get arrested and thrown in jail. Which gave your party a massive edge since Adams was a Federalist too," Jefferson pointed out as he absentmindedly ran his fingers lightly over the strip of Hamilton's exposed skin where his shirt had ridden up slightly.

"Not true!" Hamilton shot back, shifting slightly, accidentally exposing more skin.

"It is true and you know it," Jefferson hummed.

"Despite the consequences, it was helpful."

"All it did was just make the lives of hundreds of people even more brutal. Do you know how many people fled across the border in fear of being deported back to France? Do you really think they were spies?"

"The ones that stayed probably were."

"Alexander, you thought I was a spy."

"And how much sensitive information did you accidentally give the French Ambassador in casual conversation while complaining about me?"

Damn it, he had a point. "And what about everything you  _accidentally_ told the English ambassador that was always stuck to your hip while complaining about me, darling?"

Damn it, Jefferson had a point. "This has nothing to do with what's happening today," Hamilton redirected the conversation. Jefferson smirked.

"Let's not do this right now," Jefferson hummed in response, lightly kissing Hamilton's neck and gently sucking. That's the precise moment Hamilton noticed Jefferson fingers lightly grazing along his skin, tracing his scars, sending shivers up his spine, and the growing hardness pressing against his back. So Hamilton did what anyone would do in this situation. He carried on the conversation like nothing was happening, shifting his weight ever so slightly so it settled right between Jefferson's legs, just to drive him crazy. Jefferson hissed slightly but just continued working at Hamilton's neck.

"-and if you think about, it all fits together perfectly like a jigsaw puzzle," Hamilton finished reciting another conspiracy theory.

"You know what else fits together like a jigsaw puzzle?" Jefferson asked.

"What's that?"

"Us," Jefferson hissed in his ear, wrapping his arms around Hamilton's body and tightening them together. Hamilton could definitely feel the bulge underneath him now. Hamilton really wanted to see how long Jefferson could hold out, Jefferson was an extremely patient man. In fact, Hamilton wanted to see who would wait longer for something, Jefferson or Burr.

"And Lincoln Logs," Hamilton said.

"What?" Jefferson asked, stopping for a moment at the confusing comment.

"Lincoln Logs. They fit together like a puzzle too." Jefferson rolled his eyes and ran his fingers along Hamilton's ribs. Hamilton suppressed a shudder, "And Legos too, I suppose."

"Alexander," Jefferson said, pulling away from Hamilton's neck, "you're crazy."

"You know who's crazy? Mulligan. I love the guy. He's great."

Jefferson was beginning to wonder if Hamilton even had a train of thought and not just a cannon shooting random thoughts into his mind. "That's nice, darlin," Jefferson hummed.

"And when you get Lafayette drunk. Jesus Christ."

Jefferson knew exactly what Hamilton was doing and he was so not going to play his game.

Fairly.

Jefferson stepped up his game, letting his long, violinist fingers continue tracing his ribs. The other hand, however, slipped down and grazed along Hamilton's inner thigh instead. When there was a slip on Hamilton's utterings, Jefferson knew he had him.

"Without you and your lackies pressuring him into signing through something so unconstitutional, I doubt we'll have anything to worry about."

"You're just salty because I got the Sedition Acts to pass last time through those very same means."

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Jefferson's fingers grazed higher and Hamilton couldn't help but open up his legs slightly. "Absolutely. I wanted to smack you around so badly. It was completely against the Constitution."

"Are you sure you weren't thinking of fucking me?"

Jefferson's hand stilled and he leaned forward into Hamilton a little more, ghosting his teeth over the skin of his neck. "I want to smack you for the Sedition Acts, but I wanted to fuck you for the debate you had behind it."

Jefferson could feel Hamilton's body flood with heat. Hook, line, now for the sinker. His eyes traveled long the smaller man's body and a satisfied smirk spread across his face once they fixed on the growing bulge in Hamilton's pants. It matched with what Jefferson was feeling delightfully.

"The impropriety," Hamilton simpered.

"Are you saying that when I dragged your ass in Washington's cabinet time and time again, you didn't feel the same way?"

"Dragged me? You mean I dragged you."

Jefferson grinned against his neck and slipped his hand higher, resting his hand on Hamilton. "This suggests otherwise."

Hamilton hissed, pressing back against Jefferson, which probably didn't help his evasion since that put his ass forcefully on Jefferson's own growing erection. "Thomas," he said, "Are we talking politics, or are we fucking? Because we can't do both."

"I'd beg to differ. I'm about to do both right now," he said, massaging Hamilton through his pants.

Hamilton exhaled, his hips twitching as he tried not to react to Jefferson's actions. "I don't hear any political talk," Hamilton ground out.

"Do I need to make my position more clear?" Jefferson asked. "Is my hand playing with your dick not enough to show that I'm against this new bill?"

"Maybe you should fuck me on stage while giving a speech," Hamilton smirked, placing his hand on top of Jefferson's and guiding it away from his dick and to the button of his pants.

"What a splendid idea," Jefferson replied, undoing his pants and smoothly pulling down the zipper. "How should I do it?" he asked, sliding his hand up Hamilton's stomach and back down, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers. "Lie you down on stage, straddle and just fuck you there?" His hand wrapping around the smooth shaft. Hamilton bit his lip and dropped his head back. "How about I put you on your hands and knees. Makes you face the crowd while I pound into you from behind. That way they can hear me speak, fuck you, and you moan my name the entire time." Jefferson's thumb ran up along him.

"Thomas," Hamilton said breathlessly.

"Or maybe, I should just bend you over the podium and take you like that," Jefferson stated, pumping Hamilton firmly. A small sound escaped the man's lips.

"Thomas," he started moving his hips, pumping himself into Jefferson's hand. "You've made your point."

Jefferson's own eyes were closed, just as Hamilton's were at this point, taking in the feeling of Hamilton's ass moving and pressing against him as the man pumped himself into Thomas' hands, steadily growing faster. Both their heads were hanging back and Hamilton's breathing was growing more rapid as his speed increased. "Thomas, are you going to do something?"

"You seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it yourself."

"You asshole," Hamilton growled quietly, thrusting more forcefully. "Least you could do is move your hand with me."

Jefferson smirked into his neck. "I thought you wanted to talk politics?"

"I thought you wanted to do both?"

Jefferson's unoccupied hand slid from where it rested under Hamilton's shirt, down and under his ass, squeezing, before starting to work his pants off. "I am doing both."

"I don't hear any politics."

"I'm afraid if I mention Adams, it'll turn you off."

"I can't believe you're friends with that man."

"You just don't like him because he won't let you control him."

"You're right. That was a turn off."

Jefferson chuckled, making his grip around Hamilton tighter. "Really? Because you don't seem turned off at all."

"Thomas," Hamilton breathed, thrusting into Thomas' hand and letting himself fall back down against Jefferson's hardness, forcing a grunt from the man's lips.

"As I was saying," Jefferson continued, having used the opportunity to bare Hamilton's ass and freeing his dick completely. "I highly doubt this anti-homosexual bill will pass. Adams has more sense than that."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He does." Jefferson loosened his grip despite Hamilton's noise of protest and simply rubbed his thumb around the tip, smearing precum. He was busy coating his fingers in saliva and didn't want Hamilton getting too far along before the fun started.

"You seem certain. What if there's someone pushing him to pass it? We could end up having to start all over again before we know it."

"Burr won't let it through. He has to sign it as well," Jefferson reminded.

"Oh yes, because we can be sure to count on Burr," Hamilton said sarcastically.

"I dunno. He's always seemed good at shooting things down," Jefferson grinned.

"Thomas," Hamilton said seriously, stilling. "That's not funny."

"I apologize," Jefferson said, starting to pump Hamilton again. "I have a feeling Burr won't let it pass for reasons of his own."

Hamilton breathed, starting to move with Jefferson's hand. "Which would be?"

"You haven't noticed," Jefferson asked, tightening his grip and pumping faster. "The way his gaze seems to linger on a certain someone?"

Hamilton bucked off Jefferson, moaning quietly. "No. Who?" He dropped his weight back down, only to gasp out sharply, arching his back.

Jefferson grinned, marking Hamilton's neck as the man squirmed around Jefferson's fingers, which he landed and penetrated himself on when he came back down. "Thomas," he moaned. "You sly asshole."

Jefferson wiggled his fingers. "Who me? You did that yourself. And my my, you're already nice and loose."

"That's what happens when you fuck me regularly."

"What else were we supposed to do? We were stuck in the house together by an unruly mob bent on our coupling."

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***

"I'm surprised you weren't more upset about what Adams is trying to do," Hamilton said. They were lying together in bed while Hamilton traced circles on Jefferson dark skin.

Jefferson sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching out his arms before standing. "I'm pissed. But not at Adams. I know he won't let it through. I mad that it got that far. All the way through Congress? So quickly? That pisses me off."

Hamilton rolled on his side and watched Jefferson pull on a robe, "You don't seem like it."

"That's because I don't start screaming in people's faces when I'm pissed like someone I know."

"Shut the fuck up."

Jefferson turned toward him and grinned, closed the distance between them with one long stride, and planted a kiss right on Hamilton's lips. "Make me," he growled and pulled away, going back to what he was doing.

"So what're we going to do about it?"

"We've gotta stop this bill in its tracks. There's only one course of action that's guaranteed to get us somewhere."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"We run for president again."

Hamilton smiled, "I thought you retired."

"I did. And now I'm going to spend my retirement making sure no one screws up this country before I die."

"Presidents then."

Of course, they still had a while before they could actually do that. Adams' term had to end and elections to take place. Until then, Jefferson focused on rebuilding his fortune and Hamilton got a job as a lawyer. Jefferson would have as well, but his business took him out of state a lot and he couldn't juggle cases along with it.

Hamilton ended up proving himself as an excellent lawyer once again and raked in a good income, enough for them to keep Jefferson's house and for Hamilton to book a hotel room, at a discounted price, of course, he was a war hero and ex-president after all.

As time passed, Jefferson slowly got his investments smoothed out and his income grew as well, allowing him to eventually rebuy all the land he had sold. Hamilton was extremely tempted to write to Congress and just ask for a reimbursement for Jefferson's lost money, so tempted in fact, that at one point he had a pen in hand and paper on the desk before him. He knew that Jefferson would be upset if he did and they had a livable income now. If it had been Hamilton's money, he would have done it ages ago, but it wasn't, so he set down his pen with a sigh.

That's when someone pounded on Hamilton's door. When he opened it, he was shocked to find a breathless Laurens bent over his knees, trying to catch his breath after running so hard.

"Alex!" he half yelled, half gasped for air, "Thank God you're home!"

"What is it, John?" Hamilton knew something was wrong, Laurens was pale and sweaty, shaking slightly. He wouldn't have run if there wasn't something wrong. Hamilton reached forward and steadied him as John gulped down air.

"The Manor. Trouble."

"Breathe, John. Tell me what happened." Hamilton was already dialing Jefferson.

"Goveys at the Manor. Adams, Burr and everyone else in trouble. Don't know how it happened," he said slightly more clearly, still breathing hard.

"Fuck."

**\----**


	61. Does Anyone Know What's Going One?

" _Treeline of the Presidential Manor. Incognito. Bring stuff."_

That's all the text said. Jefferson slid his phone back into his pocket and immediately went to get stuff.

Jefferson stole onto the Manor's grounds and immediately saw a flaw in Hamilton's instructions. Where? There were trees surrounding the entire place. He could be at any spot on the treeline.

Okay, just think tactical advantage. Jefferson scanned the terrain. There, the slight rise, that's where'd he be. On the other side of the goddamned place. Jefferson huffed and began the trek around the Manor through the darkened forest. Luckily, it was a moonless night, he was nothing more than a ghost story. A part in the back of his mind wondered, if he was practically invisible, how would Madison and Burr move through these shadows.

He found Hamilton exactly where he thought he would be, Hamilton and someone else it seemed. Was that Laurens? Jefferson approached silently and slid a hand onto Hamilton's shoulder, "What's going on?"

Hamilton sensed Jefferson presence so his sudden appearance didn't bother him in the least. Laurens, however, jumped five feet in the air and whirled around to deck Jefferson in the face. Jefferson chuckled slightly, easily dodging Laurens' frightened swing at his face. "Relax there, Laurens, it's only me," Jefferson soothed.

"Bloody hell," Laurens whispered, "How'd you sneak up so quietly?"

Hamilton cut in, "Did you bring the stuff?"

"Yep," Jefferson said cheerfully, his voice low, swinging the bag from off his shoulder and dropping it to the ground with a heavy thump.

"I recognize that bag..." Laurens said, "That's the one you had at the rally."

"I guess?" Jefferson couldn't remember the rally. He zipped it open and started handing out weapons. All sorts of fun weapons. Jefferson saw that Hamilton had worn the dark Kevlar body armor Jefferson had designed. It wasn't his normal one, this was one was one of the newer ones. Jefferson grinned. It was updated and much cooler. Everything the other suits didn't have, that one did. They must be having fun tonight. Good thing Jefferson wore his too.

Jefferson's looked much different than Hamilton's since they had such different tastes. Hamilton preferred a rifle and then only one pistol. Jefferson was very much attached to his duel silver guns. Hamilton's had a short coat to prevent it getting caught in any slings attached to his rifle. Jefferson's coat reached his ankles, designed to be able to hold his cane when he was dual wielding. There were all sorts of different features about them but now wasn't the time for Jefferson to be admiring how well Mulligan put them together and how good Hamilton looked in it.

"You still haven't let me know what's going on," Jefferson said.

Laurens decided he better be the one to explain. "Goveys attacked the Manor, trapping all the presidents, vice president, and cabinet members inside."

"How many?" Hamilton asked.

Laurens shook his head. "I don't know. A lot. Enough to storm the Manor."

That would be a lot indeed. Jefferson designed the place to have a strong defense, remembering the story of the British burning down the White House in the War of 1812. He didn't want that happening all over again but at this rate, it might. Jefferson pulled one of his pistols out of nowhere, twirled it around, and said, "Well it's our turn to storm the castle."

Hamilton grinned.

"What's the plan then?" Laurens asked.

"Hamilton and I go in, kill all the Goveys, and rescue everyone," Jefferson replied simply. He was getting too accustomed to suicide missions.

"That, is in no way, a real plan. Besides, it leaves me out of it. No way am I sitting here on my ass while you two go gallivanting about down bloody hallways. Fuck that. New plan," Laurens said.

"Nonsense, that was a perfect plan," Jefferson said.

"Thomas, we are not leaving Laurens on a hill, in the middle of the night, alone in a place crawling with Goveys," Hamilton said.

"Thank you!" Laurens replied.

"Nonsense, we'll leave him some toys," Jefferson chuckled.

"We'll break into the Manor and clear it steadily and together," Hamilton said.

"Okay, I'm going to pretend there's only one problem with that plan and ask, how are we getting in?" Laurens asked.

Hamilton looked to Jefferson, he was the architect after all. He thought about it for a moment, going over all the different routes of the Manor. "E-1," he said finally.

"What?" Laurens asked, confused. Hamilton just nodded like he understood. "All those crazy plans and you're not going to knock on the front door?" Laurens asked.

"Darlin, we've done that already, gotta change it up a bit."

"Jeez, John, liven it up a bit," Hamilton laughed.

"There's another problem though. If we're using the tunnels, we can't all go together. Two at max. We can't be heard through the walls as we go running through the Manor," Jefferson informed.

"I thought you soundproofed the place?" Hamilton asked.

"I said I soundproofed some of the place. Not all of it."

John was completely lost. "What are you guys talking about?"

"E-1 is an emergency evac route. It'll get us inside and drop us out into the kitchens. There is then an entire web of paths leading out of the kitchen to almost everywhere in the Manor. We use those and move like ghosts through the place, clearing it out slowly but surely," Jefferson explained.

"Like a horror movie," Hamilton added.

"Exactly. Only we can't all move together. We'd have to split up. Two at the most though I'd prefer each of us to go separately," Jefferson went on, "We'd each claim a floor a work through it."

"Great, except we don't know the passages like you do," Hamilton reminded Jefferson, "we'll get lost."

"See? This is why we should've just stormed in. Things usually go well when we do that. Now that we've made a plan, a sucky plan mind you, people are gonna die," Jefferson pointed out.

"Don't say that," Hamilton said.

"You're right. People aren't going to die, they'll just be injured and mentally scarred for the rest of their lives."

"That's not any better," Hamilton said.

"You two have gotten so wrapped up in your own egos you forgot that over half of the people in there have served in the war right next to you. They're already mentally scarred and know how to fight," Laurens pointed out, "We're not useless."

"Isn't Angelica a cabinet member this term?" Hamilton asked.

"Oh shit, you're right. They probably don't even need us. Angelica will probably slice them up and dump them out windows," Jefferson said.

"Can we stop sitting around and actually do something?" Laurens asked, "If this were a book we would've spent the entire chapter bickering like children."

"Shit, you're right. Let's move."

**\----**

 


	62. Remember Remember

And so it begins.

Jefferson led them to E-1, which was apparently inside a hollowed out tree and led underground. He opened up a hatch and looked down, a current of air ruffled his curls. "Alright, you two take this one to the kitchens. From there you should be able to find your way easily. Everything leads back to the kitchens eventually. The hardest part will be finding a new entrance so try and stay inside the walls."

"What about you? How are you getting in?" Laurens asked.

"I'll take E-2. It connects to the presidential bedrooms. Ready?"

"Ready," Hamilton replied.

"I'll go with Jefferson," Laurens declared. Hamilton and Jefferson each gave him an odd look, but they were pressed for time so they didn't question it.

"Okay, Alexander, jump in," Jefferson said as he held open the hatch that dropped into the ground.

Hamilton walked up, peered down the hole turned to Jefferson, gave him a kiss and whispered in his ear, "Stay alive." Then he turned Laurens, "Keep him safe, won't you?" Laurens nodded and Hamilton jumped down the hole, Jefferson closing the hatch after him.

"Alright Laurens, let's get to E-2."

***

The tunnel was dark and long. It seemed to stretch on forever. But the ground was even and smooth so that was a plus. Hamilton walked through the darkness like it was his best friend, still extremely thankful for his oddly good night vision. Eventually, the path began to slope up slightly and he came face to face with a ladder. Oh goody. He climbed up and quietly pushed open the hatch and lifted himself out. Now inside the walls of the Presidential Manor, it was a bit cramped and pitch black but still, it was kinda cool.

He looked left and right, suddenly wishing he had Jefferson's knowledge of the passageways. Left or right?

Right.

You could never go wrong with right. Right? Fuck it. Hamilton eased to the right. He listened intently for any noise coming from the other side but heard nothing. Eventually, he came across a doorway that led into a room, the light softly leaking through the wall as a way to let him know this was an exit. Now the question was, did he want to be in this room and were there any Goveys? Hamilton paused at the door, pressing his ear against it. If Jefferson were really smart, he would've installed peep holes or-oh.

The room was empty. Okay, moving on.

Next room then. Oh shit. Another branch. This place was like a fucking maze how did Jefferson keep it straight in his head? Because he designed it dumbass. Great, now he was insulting himself. Just keep going straight that way you know your way back. He really needed a ball of string.

Hopefully, the Goveys weren't in the walls too.

Before Hamilton even made it to the next exit, he could hear the muffled voices of people through the wall but was unable to hear what they were saying. Goveys or prisoners? Hamilton inched along and finally made it to the door. Fuck, it was both. Well, that complicates things. Hamilton was wondering if Jefferson would kill him if he just shot through the wall.

Probably.

How could he do this then? The old-fashioned way. Fix bayonets. Hamilton attached a blade to the end of his rifle, took in a breath and flung the exit door open, rolling into the room and stabbing the first Govey he found, firing into his chest as he did so. Everyone else was in shock and froze up. Hamilton used it to his advantage, dropping the remaining two Goveys in the room with two quick pulls of the trigger. Silencers made it so that an entire building didn't rush him. But someone a room away would've heard so he waited for a moment to see if anyone was going to storm in. After it was clear he was in the clear, he turned to the shocked people in the room.

"Yo," was the first thing that came out of his mouth. Yo? What the fuck? Well, too late to take it back now.

"Mr. Hamilton?" a man asked. There were three of them in all.

"Yep, that's me. Alexander Hamilton, your knight in shining armor. I'd love to go through introductions, but we're pressed for time so if you'll all follow me into this magic portal in the wall, I'll get you out of here."

They all nodded and followed him as he led them back the E-1 tunnel and told them to follow it all the way out to safety. Hamilton stayed long enough to make sure they were underway and shut the hatch before making his way down the passage again. His pace was quicker this time, knowing where he was going.

Room after room was empty. He was starting to think that either the Goveys were all in one spot or were on the constant move. But on the move with prisoners? Unlikely. So where were all the prisoners? Where was Angelica? Adams? Burr? Okay, not Burr. Fuck Burr. Hamilton couldn't care less about what happens to Burr. Frankly, he was starting to question if he came across him, would he really be willing to rescue him?

He'd cross that bridge when he got there. Or burn it. Either way.

Voices filtered through the wall to him. How could that be? He wasn't near a room. He looked down. Oh. He was above one. When did that happen?

***

Jefferson and Laurens were in the dark. Jefferson in front because he knew where he was going and Laurens was just tagging along at this point, unsure what to do. They had yet to find a room with people in it. Jefferson crept along quietly. Honestly, Laurens had no idea how Jefferson managed to be so silent and move so gracefully through these passages when he was so tall. Then he wondered how quietly Burr or Madison would move through these walls.

Jefferson stopped, causing Laurens to almost run into him. He pressed a finger to his lips, miming silence. Not that Laurens could fucking see, how Jefferson could, he didn't know either.

Laurens didn't seem to know much about Jefferson.

Said man was watching something through the wall, "Please lean against the wall, please lean against the wall," he was mumbling to himself.

"What's going on?" Laurens asked.

"Yes!" Jefferson whispered excitedly, unsheathing a sword.

"Oh shit," Laurens took a step back, not wanting to be skewered accidentally.

Jefferson held his blade steadily. The room he was looking into was brimming with Govey soldiers. One had leaned against the wall just as he hoped he would. Jefferson placed the tip of the blade in the crack where the door would separate from the wall, opened the door ever so slightly, and drove the blade home, withdrew his blade and shut the door again before the Govey could even hit the floor. No doubt there was a red streak down the wall as the soldier slid to the ground with a groan and a thump. "Goddamnit, I'd hoped to avoid that."

Several soldiers rushed over in alarm. A man just dropped dead for no reason.

"He's been stabbed!"

"How's that possible!"

"It must've been one of us! A traitor!"

"Who was it?"

Jefferson took advantage of the confusion and slipped into the room. Laurens was in awe at how seamlessly he managed to blend into the mismatched group of Goveys.

"You idiot, the traitor isn't just going to step forward and say 'it's me, I did it, kill me!'"

"Oh, I don't know," Jefferson drawled, "Maybe if you ask kindly enough."

Everyone whirled on him and he smiled his trademark, shit faced smirk before there was a sword propelling through the room and impaling in someone's face as Jefferson's guns practically leaped into his hands and he emptied the magazines in two seconds flat. Each shot was perfectly aimed and not wasted. Everyone in the room slumped to the ground at the same time. Laurens stepped into the room and whistled. Jefferson was more skilled than he thought. It's no wonder Hamilton fell for him, the man was practically a god. Laurens could never hope to compete with that. Not in a million years. Well...Laurens aimed a pistol at Jefferson's face and the man froze, his gaze surprised and questioning. "Laurens?" John fired.

Jefferson jerked back, as if he could dodge a bullet. A body thudded to the ground behind him and he whirled to face the no dead man on the ground.

Laurens just saved his life. "You're welcome," John said, "You're not the only one that can shoot, you know."

Jefferson grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "I never said otherwise. Thanks, Laurens."

There were no hostages in that room so they moved on.

Jefferson yanked his sword out of a body, cleaned off the blood, slipped it back into his cane, and disappeared into the dark passage. Laurens looked around at the bloody massacre, Jefferson wasn't supposed to be that good. Laurens suddenly wondered how Hamilton was faring, he was probably a god too. So out of Laurens league.

Laurens stepped into the passageway and closed the door. Looking left and right, he realized Jefferson was nowhere to be seen.

"Well shit, this wasn't part of the plan."

**\----**

 


	63. Within These Walls

Jefferson was watching through a wall as a moment captured out of an action movie took place. Hamilton fell from the roof, out of a hatch, and into a room brimming full of Goveys. He popped off five rounds before he even hit the floor, stock pressed firmly to his shoulder. He rolled and came up kneeling, shooting off several more rounds as the shocked soldiers turned to see what was going on.

The best thing about storming a Manor in the most inconvenient and unexpected way possible is that everyone is constantly surprised. Even more so when you drop out of the fucking ceiling. Hamilton dropped a mag and reloaded in one swift motion, rolling across the floor and taking shots at those reaching for their guns. He repositioned his grip, wielding his rifle one-handedly and pulling out his pistol with the other and taking potshots. Jefferson swore that when Hamilton survived that hurricane, he stole the heart of the storm and became a hurricane himself.

Soon enough, every Govey was on the floor. Jefferson wanted more than anything to emerge from the wall and kiss Hamilton, but alas, there was no door for him to do so, so with a sigh, he moved on, leaving Hamilton on his own to figure out how to get back into the vent he dropped out of the ceiling from.

"Come on, Laurens, let's-Laurens?" Jefferson looked every which way for the short, freckly, soldier but he was nowhere to be seen. "Ah shit." He'd be fine, right?

Right?

***

Hamilton didn't know how he managed it, but he did, he was back in the walls and moving along. The passageway got darker and darker to where even he could hardly see.

Laurens never said whether the Goveys got in through the passageways or if they straight up stormed the Manor with a massive force. From the looks of it, either way was entirely possible. The passage widened enough for Hamilton to be able to pick up his pace. If they got in through the passageways, wouldn't that mean they could be in the walls too?

_Oof_

Hamilton ran right into another body, his hands went immediately for his pistol but he didn't have lightning speed like Jefferson did. "Don't move or I'll blow your head off," the person growled.

Oh shit.

***

Jefferson's next room held an interesting scene. Angelica beating the shit out of three Govey soldiers as they tried to drag her away. Jefferson popped out of the wall and, thinking courteously and not using a gun, he drew his sword and dropped two, Angelica finished off the last.

"I had it handled," Angelica panted.

"I know, I just couldn't stand letting you have all the fun," Jefferson replied easily, cleaning his blade.

"What're you doing here anyway?" she asked, knowing he hadn't been here when everything went to shit.

"Heard the Manor was under siege and I had to make sure no one put bullet holes in my ceiling. Again."

"Fair enough." Angelica stripped the soldiers of their weapons and secured them to her own body, checking the ammunition in the pistol.

"Where are the others?"

"No idea. I wasn't around any of them when the Goveys started pouring out of the walls."

"Shit."

"What?"

"The passageways are compromised. Anyone could be inside them. Alexander..."

"Focus Jefferson. Adams can't defend himself worth shit, he didn't fight in the war."

"No but he yells loud enough for people to flee the room," Jefferson grinned.

"So Hamilton's is here with you, anyone else?"

"Laurens, but I don't know where either of them are."

Angelica nodded. "Alright, get me inside a wall and I'll continue along on my own. It's best if we stay split up."

"Are you sure? Two is fine."

"Nah, you'll only cramp my style."

"Ouch." Jefferson opened a new passageway for Angelica as per her request.

"See ya later, Jeffershit," she grinned as she disappeared into the wall.

"Jeffershit? Really?" he mumbled as he returned to his own passageway. That made four of them running through the Manor like ghosts.

He couldn't help but wonder how Hamilton was doing.

**\----**

 


	64. Bloodbath

"Don't move or I'll blow your head off," the voice growled.

Oh shit.

What could Hamilton do? It was pitch black and he had a gun to his head. Wait a minute, it was pitch black.

Bluff

"I might say the same to you," Hamilton said confidently, "Move an inch and you die. I know these tunnels better than you, you damnable Govey." As he talked, he silently pulled out his gun and aimed it as well. Now he wasn't bluffing.

The other person just started laughing, "Alexander?"

"Burr?"

"Sir!" He was still laughing. "I almost shot you!"

"I still might," Hamilton growled.

Burr's laughter immediately ceased. "As much as I'd be willing to let you, I'm afraid now is not the best situation."

"Now is the best situation. I could shoot you and blame the Goveys so Jefferson wouldn't even be mad."

Burr sighed. "Alexander, get a little perspective. We need to work together to put an end to this."

"Rich, coming from you. You know these passages so well and your position with Adams makes it so easy to go turncoat and let them in these tunnels with you as their guide. I've heard how you disappear so easily and move like a ghost around the Manor."

"Yeah, to avoid people, James does it too," Burr scoffed. "Do you really think I'd turn when I'm finally in the position I wanted for so long?"

"I think you're still salty and bitter and don't give a damn about what happened to anyone else as long as you get what you want."

Burr chuckled darkly but before he could reply, a panel opened up right next to them, bathing them in light, temporarily blinding them. All they could make out was the outline of a man.

***

Okay, this was seriously starting to bother Jefferson. He couldn't find anyone. Not any Goveys not any of his friends. They were just gone. He hadn't checked every room yet but he should've come across more than he has. What was going on?

He kept wandering until finally, he came across a room with two Goveys. Finally. He opened the door just enough for their words to be clear. Eavesdropping, rude right?

"-and gathered in the ballroom."

"The ballroom? I thought the plan was the dining room?"

"They keep changing it. Agent Ghost gave them some new information for the trap."

Trap? Shit. A trap for who? For them?

"Oh, makes sense." The two soldiers walked out of the room and Jefferson quickly navigated the tunnels so he was walking right along with them inside the wall. If he listened hard enough, he could barely make out what they were saying.

"I bet there's food in the kitchen, wanna raid it?"

Oh hell no.

"Hell yeah!"

Fuck.

Jefferson opened the wall and pulled the one walking in the back into the wall without the other noticing, flicking his wrist so his blade slid between the man's ribs, piercing his lungs so he couldn't scream and then put him out of his misery. The wall closed and both Jefferson and the remaining soldiers walked on.

"Hey Fred, do you think they have smoked ham? Fred?" The man turned around and found an empty hallway. Jefferson slipped out of the wall and stood behind him.

The man turned around, "Oh hello, my name is Jefferson. You're in my Manor. Your friend was too. Fred, was it? Well, not anymore." The man went for his gun but Jefferson flickered his wrist and rested the tip of the blade at the top of his throat. "Now tell me about this trap."

***

Hamilton whirled and aimed his gun at the chest of the new arrival and pulled the trigger. But the man dove out of the way yelling, "Shit!" He hit the floor with a heavy thud but managed to transform it into a roll and came up standing, hands raised outward toward Hamilton, fingers splayed apart in a halting gesture. Hamilton re-aimed, adrenaline and anger at Burr still pounding through him. "Don't shoot!" the man yelled. Hamilton's finger tightened on the trigger but Burr shoved his arm down and the bullet discharged into the floor.

"What the hell, Burr?!" Hamilton yelled, rounding on Burr.

Burr looked like he wanted slap Hamilton but instead, he said with quiet wrath, gesturing to the man, "Did you want to shoot Laurens? I'm sorry I thought he was on our side."

"What?" Hamilton looked back at the man, confused, and to his shock, found Laurens standing there.

"You tried to fucking shoot me!"

"I- I'm sorry John, I thought were a Govey," Hamilton stammered.

"A Govey?! Oh yes, I'm sure a Govey would have gone for surrender instead of shooting your face off. Maybe that was a better option!" Laurens' anger rose.

"Believe me, John, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I should've paid more attention."

"Hell yeah you should be, frankly at this point I wouldn't be surprised if you were trying to shoot Burr too."

"Heh heh, yeah..." Hamilton trailed off.

"Let's just go back to how we used to work together when we were stealing tanks," Burr defused the situation.

"Yeah, yeah, let's go back to that. Look, man, I'm sorry I got flustered and yelled at you," Laurens said, sticking out a hand for Hamilton to shake.

"And I'm sorry for almost shooting you," Hamilton smirked, grasping his hand firmly.

John grinned wickedly before pulling Hamilton off balance and to his chest, planting a kiss right on his lips, too quick for Hamilton to stop and too short for him to push away. Laurens laughed as Hamilton's face flushed from either embarrassment and attraction or fury, Hamilton wasn't quite sure which. "Now we're even," Laurens cackled.

Before Hamilton could cuss him out, heavy footfalls came from just outside the room. "The yelling came from in here!" Goveys. Lots of them.

Laurens shoved Burr and Hamilton back behind him, shielding them.

"John!" Hamilton yelled, but Laurens had his back pressed blocked the path and overpowered him easily so Hamilton couldn't force his way into danger. Burr grabbed Hamilton, closed the wall and pulled him away right as gunshots went off, bullets tearing through right where they'd been standing. As Burr dragged Hamilton away, kicking and yelling, he could faintly hear the distinct sound of a body drop and a muffled voice cheer, "Got one!"

***

Jefferson pulled his hostage into the wall so no one else would happen upon them, he pressed his blade harder against his throat, drawing a bead of blood. "Talk," he commanded.

The man looked like he was about to cry, but he managed to keep his pride. He was a soldier after all. "You'll kill me anyway."

Jefferson was a pretty terrifying guy when he wanted to be. Every muscle in his body rippling with fury and barely leashed rage, a leash that could snap at any second. His eyes turned to a cold wrath that could freeze people mid-step. But he couldn't crack this guy. "Kill me, you're getting nothing from me," the soldier spat.

Jefferson tried every tactic in the book short of torture. He wasn't a monster.

So he hog-tied him and left him in the wall next to his dead friend. At least he didn't kill him, right?

The ballroom. What was going down in the ballroom? A trap of some kind. That's where all the presidential staff would be, including Burr and Adams, the presidents themselves. No wonder Jefferson couldn't find anyone, they were all there. But if it were a trap, was it a trap set for him and Hamilton? Designed for them to come out of the walls? Or was it planned for them to come through the front door? Was it even for them?

Well, who else would it be for?

And then there's the alleged traitor. Hamilton was right. So who was it? Burr? Adams? A cabinet member? The cook? There was always something involving a cook it seemed. If only Mulligan wasn't on tour in Europe showing off his new fashion line, he was good at this spy stuff.

He had to find Hamilton and discuss their next move. Laurens too. Where could he have possibly gotten off to?

Jefferson turned left, guessing where Hamilton would most likely be. Come on, think Jefferson, think. If he were a Govey mole and knew about the passages, how would he set up a trap to catch two of the most skilled fighters that knew every nook of the Manor?

Simple. Get them out of the Manor.

No. To predictable. The trap was in the ballroom.

Right?

He took another left, sliding open a wall, crossing a room and opened a different wall. Now he was in a completely separate network of tunnels. So intricate. He was kinda proud, he was probably the only one that wouldn't get lost in these.

He hoped Hamilton could find his way okay. For now, keep moving.

Then he stopped moving. He heard a piercing scream. He was moving again.

Fast.

It wasn't far away and he could hear the gunfire through the walls. He finally made it to the source and looked into the room only to see Angelica holding her hand to her bloodied stomach as she faced off ten or more Goveys. Jefferson burst into the room, not bothering with any blades and just straight up shot them all. Without wasting a second, his feet slamming against the floor as he raced to Angelica as she slid to the ground, her face twisted in pain.

"Angelica!"

"Jefferson," she huffed, "I had it handled."

"I know darlin, I just couldn't resist."

"That's twice now Jeffershit, find your own goddamned Goveys."

"Sure thing, darlin, right after we take care of you." Jefferson knew she was in bad shape because she didn't protest when he scooped her up in his arms, just a hiss of pain and the grinding of her teeth. He carried her into the walls and immediately took a path that sloped up.

"Keep pressure on that wound, darlin."

"Shut up."

Jefferson chuckled. "Almost there. Just hang on."

"Fuck you."

At least she still had her spirit. He nudged open a familiar door and gently settled Angelica onto a couch. It was the room that Hamilton and he used to escape to, his cello was in here somewhere. But this was a bunker, not just a retreat. It was stocked with ammo. "Stain my couch and you and I will have a problem," Jefferson said as he stood to find something to wrap her wounds with. Her response was to wipe her bloody hand all over the couch. "You bitch."

"You can't do a thing cause I'm dying," Angelica said impishly, trying to keep her voice level but failing.

"You're not dying, you're being dramatic," Jefferson lied. If she didn't get a real doctor soon, she would, in fact, die.

Jefferson returned to her, first aid kit in hand, and starting dressing her wounds. When he finished bandaging it up, she grabbed him by the lapels and hissed, "Live, goddamnit. Leave me here and find Hamilton. Kill every single one of those motherfuckers that dared step foot in here, got it?"

"Don't be re-"

"Got it?" she said forcefully. It wasn't an option. Jefferson nodded. "Come back when you're done, make me proud, Jeffershit."

"I'll get you back for my couch later. In the meantime, stay alive." Jefferson restocked on ammo and left to find Hamilton. 80% percents of people shot in the gut by a pistol lived. At least, Jefferson thought it was eighty. But that was also if they reached medical treatment in time. And depending on where the bullet tore its path, it could take hours, maybe a couple days to die.

This was reasoning Jefferson used to calm himself. But he also wasn't sure of Angelica's exact condition or how many bullets she took. He had no idea how long she had.

***

Hamilton punched Burr in the face and Burr took it without a flinch. "I could've saved him!" Hamilton screamed.

"You would've died," Burr replied calmly, wiping the blood from his face and continued dragging Hamilton down the hallways.

They weren't really hallways though, were they? They were inside the walls.

Wallways.

Burr continued dragging Hamilton down the wallways. He paused at an intersection, looking left then right before turning right.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Hamilton asked, rage still lacing his voice.

Good, Burr thought, let him be angry. If he's angry, he can fight. If the grief set in, they were screwed. "Yes," he replied simply.

"Then where are we going?"

"This way." Hamilton rolled his eyes and wrenched his arm out of Burr's grasp. "Alexander, this is not the time for this bullshit."

"Oh I'm sorry, would you prefer to have had it two hundred years ago? Oh, wait. We did. And you shot the fucking president."

Burr decided this would not be the opportune time to point out he didn't shoot the deputy. "Yeah, and now we're alive again and living through hell together. So grow up before someone else dies too. Think you feel bad now? Keep dragging your feet and standing around and next thing you know, Jefferson will be dead. Or Madison." That might have been a bit too far. He could tell because Hamilton decked him in the face again.

Burr picked himself off the floor, dusting himself off. "He has an outrageously strong throwing arm, doesn't he?" a southern voice drawled from the shadows.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Burr rubbed his face.

"So much power packed into one little body," Jefferson commented.

"Fuck you," Hamilton snapped.

"Glad to see you're okay. Anyone know where Laurens is at? He kinda disappeared on me."

Burr and Jefferson could sense Hamilton's impending breakdown, though Jefferson had no idea what the reasoning behind it was. Somehow they both knew what to do. Make him angry. Keep him angry and he stayed alive but once he broke they were all done. Burr and Jefferson shared a look. They needed to distract him.

Burr said the first thing that came to his mind, "Laurens and Alexander kissed."

Jefferson dropped his cane. It clattered to the floor in shocked silence. A moment later, Hamilton muttered, "Burr, you motherfucker."

**\----**

 


	65. Every Ball Needs Music, Let's Play the Heart Strings

Hamilton and Laurens kissed? That couldn't be right. Hamilton wouldn't do that. Jefferson looked at Hamilton to see if it was true. It was.

Jefferson's heartbeat pounded in his ears. His breathing was hard and forced. His mind raced with million thoughts and was utterly blank at the same time. His voice refused to work and he couldn't move. Why did this hurt so much? It was just a kiss. Jefferson felt like if this were any other relationship, he'd be perfectly fine with it, just shrug it off and keep moving. With Hamilton, it felt like his whole heart had just been ripped from his chest, stomped on, and then thrown out a window. Why did it hurt so much?

 _Is this something I'm going to have to worry about_?

_I would never-_

Jefferson gasped and clutched his head as it throbbed from the sudden resurfacing of a murky memory.

"Thomas-" Hamilton took a step forward.

Jefferson put out a hand and held his head for a moment, preventing Hamilton from coming any closer.

Burr, wisely, faded into the background.

"Thomas," Hamilton pleaded, "let me explain."

Jefferson stood up straight, dropping his arms to his sides, "No, Hamilton, it's fine. I'm fine. Don't worry about it." He was not fine. His head was spinning and he felt nauseous, his knees were ready to give out beneath him and dear God, his head pounded as the blurry image of the memory flashed in incomprehensible pictures of murky figures and muffled words. He needed to lie down or at least sit against a wall until the room stood still and his senses we're back in order.

But they needed to keep moving, the longer they waited, the worst the situation would get. Angelica didn't have the time for them to be falling apart now. Who knows where Laurens got off to, he was probably lost in a tunnel somewhere. They'd find him after all this was over. Why'd he have to run off? At least he could take care of himself.

Jefferson popped his cane into the air with his foot and caught it in a seemingly swift, effortless motion, but in reality, it almost made him vomit his guts up. "Let's go. We have a ball to crash," Jefferson forced his voice to be steady and upbeat. Nothing was wrong, he was okay. He could push through this. He walked off into the dark, Burr following close behind. The fact was they had to move, it didn't matter if Jefferson was dying inside.

Hamilton stood transfixed for a moment. What had just happened? Did he just lose Jefferson? Hamilton's heart was on the verge of shattering into millions of pieces and scattering like glass on the floorboards. He was on the edge of falling apart, tears pricking at his eyes. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. It wasn't his fault. None of it was his fault. If only he could explain- If only Burr hadn't worded it so poorly.

Fucking Burr.

If only Laurens were still here. If only he was still alive-

Stop. Hamilton, you know now isn't the time to think of such things. He couldn't break. He mustn't break. They had to survive first. Grieving came after.

Hamilton took a deep breath and followed Jefferson and Burr into the dark.

Burr realized that he may have averted Hamilton's break down over Laurens' death, but he may have done so at the cost of breaking Jefferson instead. And probably Hamilton too. His words were too hurried. He should have thought them through more. Now he's the cause of a massive crevice that parts the most powerful duo in the world. This is why he tended to keep his mouth shut, when one hurries and doesn't think, one tends to make mistakes, and he just made a big one. What has he done?

But at least they were moving and that was the important thing. Even if Jefferson's gait wasn't his normal strut but more of a forced walk, slightly relying on the walls to keep him straight. Even if Hamilton was dragging behind instead of forcing his way the front so he could be in the thick of things.

Jefferson led them down the wallways and explained what he'd discovered about a trap.

Hamilton growled, "Care to enlighten us, Burr?"

"What's your problem with me? I'm not a traitor," Burr retorted, "I don't have anything to do with this trap."

"You are a traitor and you always will be. You shot Jefferson! The fucking president! You can't escape that," Hamilton snarled.

"Hamilton, shut your goddamned face for once!" Jefferson snapped from the front, not even glancing back. God his head hurt. He was ready to pass out. In fact, he might, he was swaying slightly on his feet. He put a hand against a wall as they walked to steady himself.

Hamilton was about to say something back but Burr shot him a warning look and shook his head. Hamilton didn't care, "It was just a goddamned kiss, Thomas, it's not that big of a deal! So get your head out of your ass for once and listen to me!"

Jefferson stopped walking.

"Sweet Jesus," Burr prayed, pressing as close to the wall as he could, not wanting to be between these two.

"Hamilton," Jefferson began, his voice laced with quiet anger, but it dropped away into a shaky voice as he rasped, "you-" he fell against the wall, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact and supporting the rest of his weight. Jefferson's hand braced against the wall, keeping him from falling to the ground completely

"Thomas!" Hamilton lunged forward, Burr also moving to help, but Jefferson fended them off by putting out another halting hand.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! Goddamnit, just leave me be!" he pushed away from the wall and back onto his unsteady feet, "We keep moving."

"Jefferson, you need to rest for a moment," Burr said softly.

"I hate to say this, but I agree with Burr, something's wrong with you and you need to sit down," Hamilton urged.

"I said I'm fucking fine!" Jefferson snapped. "We're going to the ballroom and ending this whole mess once and for all."

"Thomas! If you love me at all you'll stop walking and sit your ass down."

Jefferson stopped walking, his back straight and posture rigid. That's when Hamilton knew he messed up. He may know that he did nothing wrong, but Jefferson didn't. "As if you'd care about what happens to me," Jefferson sneered, his fingernails cutting into his hand. Then he kept walking.

Did he love Hamilton? More than anything. Did Hamilton love him?

He wasn't so sure.

"You see what you've done?" Hamilton hissed in Burr's ear as they continued along the pathways.

They continued along in silence. Jefferson stopped at an intersection, looking left then right and holding his throbbing head in his hands. He couldn't think straight. Everything was still swimming around him. Was he at junction J-13 or F-3? Left or right? Fuck. If only his head would stop hurting he could easily figure it out.

Burr leaned forward and whispered, "Left." Jefferson nodded and went left, not even questioning him.

Hamilton, on the other hand, was watching his every move.

"We're going to the ballroom, yes?" Hamilton asked.

"Yes," Jefferson answered shortly, talking only made everything hurt worse, so he didn't want to talk.

Hamilton grit his teeth. Jefferson didn't even want to talk to him now? Shallow. That's fucking shallow. "And the plan?"

"Shoot all the Goveys. Find the traitor. Save everyone else," Jefferson replied.

"Absolutely bulletproof," Hamilton said snarkily, "what could possibly go wrong?"

"Can you please shut the fuck up?" Jefferson ground out, focusing on walking straight.

"Oh, am I too loud for you? Can't stand the sound of my voice grating against your ears?"

"JESUS-FUCKING-CHRIST HAMILTON DO YOU WANT EVERYONE KNOWING WHERE WE ARE? PEOPLE CAN HEAR US THROUGH THE GODDAMNED WALLS," Jefferson snapped.

That actually shut Hamilton up.

Jefferson couldn't think, he could hardly stand, let alone walk. Why did this have to happen now? The murky memory kept replaying and replaying

_I would never-_   
_I would never-_   
_I would never-_

Jefferson wanted to scream. He wanted to curl into a ball and never move again. He wanted to talk to Hamilton, find out what really happened between him and Laurens but he couldn't. Now wasn't the time. It seemed like they never got time to figure shit out. One day Jefferson woke up in a hospital without a clue as to who Hamilton was and since then everything has been hell. And now this.

He just had to keep moving.

Hamilton wanted to punch someone, preferably Burr, but anyone would do. He wanted to deck Jefferson for being such a dick when he didn't know any of the story. He wanted to tackle Burr and beat the living shit out of him. He wanted to scream and yell and punch a hole in the wall. He wanted to scream away his frustrations and sink down onto the floor and just cry. Burr is a bitch, Jefferson was being a dick, and Laurens was de-

No. Stop.

Hamilton curled his hands into fists and kept moving. As long as he kept moving he'd be fine.

Everything would be fine.

**\----**

 


	66. May I Have This Dance?

When Jefferson finally got them to the vent that overlooked the ballroom, he let the others in front to study the situation while he sagged against the wall and held his head in his hands and took deep breaths. He just needed to get his thoughts straightened out, that's all.

First this memory, he let it play in his head until it became a little more clear and then filed it away. No more of that. The room wasn't spinning as much now, but he was still nauseous and couldn't see clearly. Next was Hamilton and Laurens-no, he'd deal with that later. Now was for figuring out what this plan was. Jefferson rubbed his temples, the pounding in his head just wouldn't go away, he needed a long rest or something.

He felt a hand slide gently onto his knee, "Thomas," Jefferson opened his eyes to see Hamilton's face swimming over him, concerned. "Are you okay?" he asked. No, Jefferson was not okay.

"I'm fine," Jefferson said unconvincingly.

Jefferson's condition really worried Hamilton, once his anger cooled off for the most part and he realized how unsteady Jefferson was. Did the kiss really bother him that much? Maybe if he could just explain what really happened... "Is this about the kiss? Cause if you would just let me tell you what happened-"

"Hamilton," Jefferson cut him off, "It's okay. I'm sure you had your reasons or there's more to the story, we can discuss it at length later, but right now we really to focus on what's at hand." Jefferson smiled weakly up at him.

"Then what's bothering you?" Hamilton asked.

"It's not important."

"You can barely stand and you want to go head first into battle? You'll end up shooting yourself," Burr said from over at the vent, "Just listen to Hamilton and tell him whatever it is that's bothering you."

For once, Hamilton appreciated Burr's intervention because Jefferson sighed and looked at Hamilton. "I remembered something and it caused me to get disorientated. I'll be fine in a minute."

"You seem a little bit more than disorientated," Hamilton pointed out, "What did you remember?"

"Hamilton, as much as I'd love to discuss it right now, we've got to keep moving, Angelica is bleeding to death and-"

"What?" Hamilton breathed, Burr's head snapped around, they didn't know this.

"Angelica, she got shot and she's currently in the bunker. If we don't move fast enough, she won't live."

"Why didn't you tell me this!" Hamilton raged.

"There was never an opportunity," Jefferson replied, rubbing his temples again. He'd be able to stand again soon.

Hamilton was about to snap back but Burr cut him off, "We need to come up with a plan and fast," Burr said, "They're setting up a bomb."

"A bomb? Why the hell would they do that?" Hamilton asked.

"It's just like the war of 1812, burn down the White House, or in this case, the Presidential Manor, and you destroy the seat of power, the icon. It cripples the morale," Burr explained. "We've gotta do something and fast."

Jefferson quickly calculated everything they had. Hamilton had his rifle and his pistols, Jefferson had his pistols, and they both had blades. "Burr, do you have a weapon?" Jefferson asked.

"Of course. I have a gun. Who doesn't carry these days?"

"Adams," Hamilton replied instantly.

"Well, that would be why he's down there, in the ballroom, standing around like an idiot."

"Wait, what?" Hamilton asked. He had been sure Adams was a traitor.

"No, wait, now he's yelling at the Goveys," Burr announced.

Jefferson got to his feet, took a second for his vision to stabilize more, and then walked over to the vent, judging the positions of the Govey troops.

"Alright. Here's the plan."

***

Jefferson lowered himself carefully onto the beams that supported the ballroom roof. He turned around and put up his hands to catch Hamilton as he slid out of the roof, he was much shorter so his legs couldn't reach like Jefferson's could. Once Hamilton was on the beam, Jefferson did the same thing for Burr. Why was everyone around him so short?

Once Burr had his feet firmly planted on the beam, Jefferson turned around to face Hamilton but turned too quickly as his dizziness overtook him again, making him sway dangerously. Burr caught on to his shoulder and steadied him, Jefferson gave a nod off thanks. Hamilton was crouching down, watching the turmoil below so he had no idea what had happened. He looked up at Jefferson, a question in his eyes. Jefferson nodded in reply. This was it.

Hamilton got up and walked forward a bit before checking the view again, adjusting, and then lying down across the wooden beam, pressing the stock of his gun to his shoulder. Burr and Jefferson tipped toed across the beam onto the intersecting one and went their separate ways, Jefferson going to one end of the Ballroom and Burr to the other. Jefferson took longer than usual to get there, usually, he'd just jump from rafter to rafter and be there in two seconds flat, but today, he was sure jumping would mean certain death.

He secured the harness he was going to use to fly across the room to the beam. The plan was for him and Burr to leap from their rafters at the same time, fly across the room shooting Goveys, and land on the opposite beams. They'd be distractions while Hamilton sniped from his rafter. Jefferson crouched down and racked his pistols, examining the situation below before securing the harness to himself. Hamilton was ready and so was Burr. This was his. Jefferson grabbed the harness and was just about to secure it when another group of Goveys burst through the door carrying a makeshift litter, carrying a bloodied body.

Laurens.

No. This couldn't be.

Jefferson heard Hamilton's exhale of breath as if he'd been punched. Jefferson's eyes glued to Hamilton, but then his vision went blurry and the pain in his head intensified again.

_I'll never forget him. Laurens was my Martha._

_He must've been very special to you._

_He was._

_~~~_

_Hamilton loved Laurens, probably still does. But what did that mean for Hamilton and Jefferson?_

_Jefferson could tell by the way Hamilton was looking at Laurens that he was memorizing everything about him, every tiny detail. Jefferson's blood turned to ice in his veins._

Jefferson gasped, the harness falling from his hands as his vision blackened and went dark altogether.

Hamilton screamed when he saw Jefferson topple from his rafter, falling limply through the air, crashing toward the ground. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but scream his name. "THOMAS!"

***

Burr noticed Jefferson's condition before Hamilton did, only because he was watching and not looking at the body the Goveys brought in. He saw Jefferson tense up and gasp in pain. He knew what had just happened. But there was nothing he could do from keeping him from falling off.

But he had a debt to repay.

Burr stood and leaped from his rafter, falling swiftly toward the ground before he felt the tug of the rope his harness was attached halting his descent. He shot forward across the room as Jefferson toppled. Burr stretched out his arms, he could hear Hamilton scream. Then his body collided with Jefferson's with an audible _oof_ as the air was knocked from his lungs. His grip slipped but he hung on tightly, managing to keep Jefferson from slipping from his grasp. It wasn't easy, but he managed it. The momentum of the harness brought him back up and he landed safely on a rafter, stumbling slightly from Jefferson's weight.

The Goveys below were attracted by Hamilton scream and were readying their weapons to fire. Hamilton was next to him and Jefferson in an instant, pushing Burr off of Thomas. "Get away from him," Hamilton snarled.

Burr rose his hands in surrender and proceeded to unbuckle his harness. "Alexander, if we have any hope of surviving, we need to get Jefferson back into the walls and get out of here."

"Fine, I'll carry him," Hamilton responded shortly.

"We both know neither of us can carry him alone."

Bullets started to ping around them. "You motherfucker," Jefferson mumbled, "you put holes in my ceiling," he jerked slightly. Hamilton ducked away from the shots as Jefferson snapped open his eyes and pushed out of Hamilton's arms, almost falling off again if Burr hadn't immediately steadied him. "What's going on?" he demanded before collapsing to his knees.

"Thomas!" Hamilton slipped his arm around Jefferson, "Come on Burr, we need to get him out of here." Burr supported Jefferson's other side and helped him walk back to the entrance they came through and shoved him through, climbing in after him and closing the wall again. The sound of gunfire was muffled but the wall wouldn't stop the actual bullets, so they kept moving.

"I'm sorry," Jefferson rasped as they walked, "it's my fault."

"Shut up and focus on staying on your feet," Hamilton commanded.

"Alexander, I'm so sorry," he continued, "Laurens-"

"I said shut up."

"He's dead- dead because of me. If I hadn't-"

"GODDAMNIT THOMAS SHUT UP AND WALK." Hamilton's eyes burned as he refused to let any tears fall.

Jefferson continued anyway. "He was with me and you two were so close. If I hadn't lost him, he'd be fine and you two would both be happy. I'm so sorry Alexander."

"Just let him talk," Burr said softly, "It'll help.

So Hamilton let him talk, keeping his silence as tears rolled down his face. Eventually, silence fell between them all and they made their way to the bunker, Hamilton leading the way.

"I don't recognize this set of tunnels, where are we going?" Burr asked.

So he hadn't discovered the bunker then. "The bunker connected to the presidential rooms," Hamilton answered.

When they arrived, Hamilton laid Jefferson down as softly as he could. Burr went to check Angelica's pulse, when he stood back up, he shook his head. Angelica was gone. Hamilton found a blanket and spread it over her. They'd lost too many today. Too many.

Hamilton built a fire in the fireplace that has been cold for so long and set some coffee to brew over it. It was going to be a long night. Burr closed the door and locked it. No one was getting in. By the time Hamilton returned to check on Jefferson, he was fast asleep. Good, he needed it. Hamilton curled up next to him on the floor, pulling Jefferson against him. He'd keep Jefferson safe.

What he wasn't planning on was accidentally falling asleep as well. So when the coffee started to boil, Burr took it off the flames and poured himself a cup and draped an extra blanket over the two as they slept on the floor. Then he settled into a chair with his cup of coffee, a book, and his pistol. It was his watch then.

"Please tell me you're reading something of worth this time," a voice hummed.

"I was wondering when you'd decide to speak up and let your presence known."

***

Hamilton woke to humming. He sat up to find Burr reading while Jefferson poured four cups of coffee. "Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

"You were sleeping and there was no reason to," Jefferson answered, handing him a cup of steaming coffee.

"You know, other than the fact that the entire Manor is crawling with Goveys who possess a bomb that could blow this entire place up any second," Hamilton said, trying to make them see reason.

"Okay, good points, but first of all, this is a bunker, the bomb wouldn't do a thing to it," Jefferson explained.

"What about the hostages?!" Hamilton nearly shouted.

"Secondly," Burr continued for Jefferson, "I stole their bomb last night."

"Wait, what?" Hamilton was now completely confused.

"I stole the bomb," Burr repeated.

"How?"

"Well, you see, I threw all dramatic entrances out of the window, walked down the passageways, ambushed a Govey, stole his clothes and identity, walked into the ballroom, picked up the bomb, and walked back out."

"That wouldn't work," Hamilton said, "Someone would've stopped you, questioned you, recognized you, something."

"Keep your mouth shut, flash some smiles, walk with confidence and you can pull off anything."

"That's exactly what I do and I never get away with anything!" Hamilton protested.

"Darlin, you scowl at everyone," Jefferson amended.

"Same thing!"

Burr and Jefferson chuckled. "Well, you're certainly looking a lot better," Hamilton leered.

"I am," Jefferson replied, settling into a chair. "In fact, I think it's time we crashed a ball."

"Oh yes, because it went so well last time," Hamilton rolled his eyes.

"We were all out of it, we shouldn't have gone in so unprepared."

"Burr and I were just fine, it was you who insisted that you could walk straight while leaning against the wall," Hamilton scoffed.

Jefferson looked at Hamilton with knowing eyes, Burr decided that he'd be of more use gathering weapons from outside the bunker. "Come on, James," he called, walking out the door.

"If you call me out like that all the time, I'm never going to learn new things," Madison complained, following Burr out.

"Was...when did Madison?" Hamilton began.

"He was here when we got here, apparently. According to Burr." Jefferson set aside his cup of coffee and walked over to Hamilton where he sat on the floor. He crouched down in front of him and pulled Hamilton into his arms, holding him tightly, and said softly, "I know you're not fine."

That's when Hamilton finally broke.

***

The three of them stood in the walls of the ballroom, they could hear the terrible music the Goveys were playing from where they stood. "I know it shouldn't matter at all, but can someone do something about the music?" Burr complained, "It's making my ears bleed."

"I'll shoot the stereo system the first chance I get," Hamilton promised.

"Oh no you're not," Jefferson proclaimed, "That is very expensive, you are not putting bullets in it. I'll override the system, just give me a minute." Jefferson walked off to where he knew the wiring for the stereo was, a moment later the music cut out and was replaced with something much better. When Jefferson returned, he asked, "Better?"

"Did you purposely put on my favorite song?" Hamilton asked.

Jefferson put a hand on his chest in mock surprise, "Me? Never. I would never do such a thing."

Madison made a face, "This is just as awful as what was playing before."

"No one asked for your opinion," Hamilton retorted. Everyone had forgotten he was there. Again. Except for Burr, of course.

"I don't recall caring about whether or not I had your opinion," Madison replied.

"Okay everyone, how about we focus and finally crash this ball?" Jefferson asked, placing his hand on the door, getting ready to open it.

"Yeah yeah yeah, alright. Let's get this over with," Burr said.

Jefferson paused and turned to Hamilton, stretching out his hand and bowing slightly, "May I have this dance?"

Hamilton smirked before brushing past him, "Nope," and out the door.

"So cold," Jefferson said, smiling, walking out after Hamilton into the middle of the ballroom floor, guns already drawn.

**\----**

 


	67. In the Aftermath- Burr's Interlude

The aftermath of the battle wasn't as bad as Jefferson had thought it would be. None of the hostages seemed to be badly injured, just some bruising and scrapes. Adams was sporting a black eye after a Govey got tired of him yelling at everyone. It wasn't until Hamilton's voice cut through the air that everyone really knew this had been a defeat.

"Where's Laurens?"

A brave person came forward and quietly murmured, "He died."

"I know," Hamilton snapped, "I meant where is his body?"

Adams stepped forward, "After the three of you disappeared back into the ceiling, the Goveys finished rounding up all bodies, their own and ours, and had them carted off last night. We don't know where they went."

Hamilton seemed to shut down. He was just standing there. Jefferson immediately went to him, wrapping his arms around the small man and holding him close, murmuring softly to him. Screw everyone watching, Hamilton needed him. Sure, they had some things to work out, to talk over, but right now, Jefferson knew he just needed to be there for Hamilton, they could talk later when they were both ready and everything settled down.

Jefferson could hear the whispers start up and travel around the room, there was no way their relationship was staying under wraps now. He honestly didn't care. Jefferson held Hamilton tighter as he felt the shuddering breaths start. No, Hamilton couldn't break here, Jefferson immediately steered him toward a wall, opened it up, and pulled him inside. At least there they had some privacy.

***

After the three of them took the ballroom through a bloody battle that had all the hostages running for cover, Burr immediately set to work. He had to straighten things out and restore order. Adams wasn't going to be doing anything anytime soon so it was left to Burr. Adams was actually a dedicated man, but right now, he seemed to have disappeared.

When Jefferson went to comfort Hamilton, Burr couldn't stop his thoughts from turning to his dear Theodosia. He'd gotten a second chance with her and didn't even realize how lucky he was, no one got second chances when it came to lost love. No one except them it seemed. Burr hadn't remembered his past life when he was still with Theodosia and all too soon, she was wrested from his arms.

Burr had always been hesitant to join a side in the rebellion. He knew if he did join, it'd be as a rebel, but he never took that final step to join until Theodosia walked into his life. She laughed in his face about his insecurities and pushed him forward, joining the rebellion right by his side, constantly pushing him forward. She deserved better.

They were always by each other's side, covering each other's backs and making up for the other's flaws. Burr was a terrible shot but was great at sabotage and espionage, Theodosia could blow anything up and had the best aim in the regiment. Jefferson had yet to join and Hamilton was a legend a state away. So that left Burr and Theodosia, the unstoppable tag team.

That is, until they weren't.

It was a sudden skirmish, a Govey ambush. They'd been hiking through the forest, heading for a hill to make a camp until they'd move out again the next day. The Goveys waited until night and set the camp on fire. Burr could remember it like yesterday. Red-orange flames growing higher and hotter, burning around them, smoke filling their tent, searing their lungs and making them cough uncontrollably, tears streaming from their eyes. Burr had pulled her out of the tent, guns slung over his shoulder in a hurry.

They emerged to find chaos.

Rebel soldiers were running back and forth, some shouting commands, some trying to follow them, most were fleeing, and the rest were falling to the ground as bullets ripped through their bodies. Burr had turned to Theodosia, pressed a gun in her hand and told her to run while he covered her.

She laughed in his face.

They fought back the ambush, barely. Most of them didn't make it through. One of them being Theo. She died as Burr held her to his chest, willing her to live as bullets whizzed over his head.

The only reason he was able to move on was for his little Theodosia, their child. He had to be there for her, he couldn't abandon her. But he could abandon the war. He went home to raise her, told her stories of her amazing mother.

It was only natural that when she turned eighteen, she enlisted. Burr begged her not to go but she wouldn't listen, so Burr joined again too.

She died in the exact same way. Except the only difference was that her death had been in the battle that they thought ended it all. Govey resistance disappeared, everything was going well. By then, Jefferson and Hamilton were famous, icons of the war.

Then they disappeared.

Burr didn't realize the second chance that he had until the day of the rally, when Hamilton's and Jefferson's appearance hit him like a gong, ringing through his head. He was lucky. He'd gotten a second life with her, a short one, but a second one nonetheless.

He didn't know why he went to that rally. Maybe it was because it's what Theodosia would've done. Maybe it was because he knew it's where his life would begin again. It didn't really matter, the fact was he went and then everything changed.

He recognized Hamilton first and then Jefferson. His gaze had stuck to Jefferson, guilt filling his chest. He never meant to shoot him. But there he was, standing as large as life, decked out in flashy magenta, laughing at the world as he came back from death. In more ways than one. Every day since, Burr's only motive has been to repay his debt, whether Jefferson and Hamilton knew about it or not. It became his new drive.

Only, his life got worse. Every night he couldn't sleep, guilt and loneliness ganging up on him and dragging him down to dark places. Dark, dark places. Nightmares plagued him relentlessly, the only thing that kept him from ending it permanently was the knowledge that he hadn't repaid his debt, he couldn't die until he repaid his debt.

So he kept going. He was able to push away the loneliness whenever the entire group was around, everyone laughing, everyone blissfully ignorant, no one knowing about the past life except him. He was alone in that too. The guilt only got worse every time he saw Hamilton and Jefferson, every time he held a gun, Every time he signed A. Burr.

He was all alone in this dark place until he realized he wasn't. Madison lived in it like it was the best place to be. Burr didn't understand how he could, but Madison simply just lived in the darkness. Burr learned from him and they became close friends. Suddenly, Burr wasn't so lonely anymore.

But that didn't fix his problems.

People started to remember, Burr noticed. Jefferson and Hamilton came back and Burr just knew. Knew by the way Hamilton would glance death glares at him and stalk away, clenching his fists, trying not to snap, he knew by the way Jefferson looked at him, Burr could see the way Jefferson relived dying whenever he saw his face. So he decided it'd be best if no one knew he knew.

The day that Madison remembered, in the middle of the Convention, Burr knew immediately, the way he clutched at his hair and went pale, shaking slightly. There was a chance that he was just sick again, but when he excused himself, Burr just knew. The first chance he got, he went to help him, but Madison had already confronted Jefferson and Hamilton about it and by the time Burr got there Madison was already all caught up.

Madison hated Burr for shooting Jefferson too, he just didn't show it. Burr noticed but the sudden cold shoulders and the way he left the room when Burr walked in. He didn't hate Burr as much as Hamilton but he was no where near to forgiving him as Jefferson had. It took time for them to finally be on speaking terms again and ages more for Madison to actually willingly invite him things or seek him out.

At least Burr wasn't alone anymore.

But now he had stuff to do, things to take care of. He looked around the room, taking in the blood that stained the wooden floorboards of the ballroom, the hostages that were now wandering around, checking on people they knew, calling relatives and friends, telling them what happened and that they were alright. There was going to be lots of paperwork and addresses he'd have to go through. He'd have to tell the people his account, how he went for the walls, how he was fighting the Goveys until he ran into Hamilton, how Laurens died, how he ran into Jefferson. What would he say about Jefferson's condition? That couldn't go public. He could just leave that bit out, distract people with Hamilton's and Jefferson's involvement. And then there were the elections. He had no idea who was running, but he certainly hoped it wouldn't be Adams. Adams was a good guy and all, but Burr couldn't stand his constant yelling and explosive personality. He much preferred Madison quiet and soft nature. Maybe he'd run. That'd be nice.

Burr made sure that everything in the ballroom was going smoothly, medics had finally arrived and we're tending to the people. One tried to tend to him but he pushed her off and left to retrieve Angelica's body. She couldn't be forgotten. They lost two important and great people in this, the Vice President, Angelica Schuyler and Secretary of War, John Laurens. They needed to plan a funeral and tell the nation to lower their flags to half-mast.

Then the news people flooded in. He was suddenly pressed in at all sides, cameras in his face and words being shouted over each other. He knew this would happen. They were scrambling for answers, something to tell the people. Burr settled them down and started taking questions one at a time.

"Where are Jefferson and Hamilton? Did they make it through the battle?"

"Jefferson and Hamilton are currently being tended to for injuries in a private room. They are perfectly fine."

"How would this battle have gone without their presence?"

"Slowly and there is the extreme probability that the Governmentals wouldn't have been pushed out."

"What was your involvement?"

"I'll make a full report as soon as possible, but now I must attend to my duties, if you'll excuse me," Burr pushed out of the group of reporters.

He had so much work to do.

**\----**

 


	68. The Impossible Duet vs. Shape of My Heart

Hamilton was sitting in front of the fire in a relaxation room connected to his and Jefferson's room, a cup of tea in hand. Now that their relationship was known, they didn't have to sleep in separate rooms anymore but since they weren't presidents, they didn't get their old rooms which meant they didn't have access to their bunker either. They didn't mind that much, honestly, their new room was much cooler, though the rest of the people in the Manor would probably disagree. They pretty much chose to move into the attic, a room with massive windows that looked out to the beautiful Manor grounds, plenty of room, if a bit dusty, cold, and removed from the rest of the Manor. It would be a bit of a hassle for anyone that had to work but Hamilton and Jefferson didn't, they were just there because everyone insisted they move in so they could be protected.

Hamilton pointed out that perhaps the Manor wasn't the safest place since it just got invaded, but Jefferson countered that it took an entire force to break in and even then it required inside help whereas Jefferson's house, the Goveys pretty much just knocked down the door and shot them. Besides, he was improving the security. It was super convenient for him to be in the Manor while he remodeled a bit for the new security measures that we're going in. Goveys wouldn't be breaking in again.

It was odd being back in the Manor again, everyone seemed to automatically turn to them for everything as if they were the presidents and not Adams and Burr. Something important happened? Someone wanted an opinion? They were sought out, they were more than happy to help. Adams, however, wasn't the least bit happy, neither was Burr but he didn't seem to care that much. But when it came to official business, like when the entire Presidential staff sat around the table with foreign ambassadors and the ambassadors would address Hamilton and Jefferson as the people of power, they had to be sure to redirect it to Burr and Adams, which would, in turn, make Adams near exploding with anger, he did not like being disrespected, Burr didn't show a reaction, just smiled, but anyone who knew him really well could tell that it bothered him to be disrespected like that. There wasn't anything that Hamilton and Jefferson could do about it other than make themselves scarce. So they didn't go to those dinners very often.

Jefferson slid his hand onto Hamilton's shoulder, his own cup of tea in hand, "Darlin' are you doing all right?" Ever since Laurens' death, Hamilton had been more removed and quiet. With no work to throw himself into to push away the grief, he didn't know how to cope. You'd think he'd be used to death by now, that he would have gotten used to it. But the thing about death is-

It only gets worse.

"Yeah..." Hamilton replied distractedly like he barely heard.

Jefferson sat down next to him and pulled him close, holding him comfortingly and saying nothing, at this point, he knew that words wouldn't help, Hamilton just needed someone there for him. They stayed like that for many hours, just drinking tea and staring at the fire, it was almost like the easy days when all they had to deal with were a few nightmares. Funny, Hamilton never thought he would miss those days.

After a while, Hamilton looked over to Jefferson and spoke, "I want to explain what happened between Laurens and me."

"Darlin' there's no need-"

"Yes, there is, I don't want us to continue with even the slightest doubt in my loyalty to you," Hamilton cut him off. Jefferson lapsed into silence and Hamilton looked back into the flames of the fire. "It was nothing really, I almost accidentally shot John and he got me back by pulling me into a sudden kiss. I didn't know it was happening until it was over, it was too short for me to push him off. I swear, if I had known his intentions- I didn't even know he liked me like that. I mean, I should've, but I figured without his memories, it wouldn't be like that."

"Darlin'" Jefferson said softly, placing his hand gingerly on Hamilton's face, making him face him, "You never had anything to explain. I should be the one apologizing for my attitude that day, I shouldn't have pushed you away, I was just in so much pain."

"Thomas, it's okay, I think we both could've handled it better," Hamilton smiled slightly.

Jefferson smiled back and they both settled back into the couch again. "You know what could've been handled better? The revealing of our relationship."

"That's your fault for being so clingy."

"Oh, I'm sorry that I care about your mental health," Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"The public certainly went crazy about it," Hamilton said.

"You remember that group that constantly stood outside my door? They're claiming all responsibility for setting us up."

Hamilton laughed, "Really? That's insane."

Jefferson shrugged, "It's better than the negative responses going around."

"Do you think it'll affect the election results?"

"Not much, the people seemed ecstatic when they found out we were running again and there's no law about the Presidents being involved. The scandal that we needed to avoid was being discovered while we were presidents, but being elected into the presidency with that knowledge already known should be just fine."

Hamilton smirked, "Does that mean I can fuck you openly now?"

Jefferson rose an eyebrow at him, and Hamilton cackled. "Not in public, darlin'."

"Not even on the table?" Hamilton smirked.

"No."

Hamilton sighed dramatically and took another drink of his tea. They both returned to staring into the fire when Hamilton spoke suddenly, "Would you like to play with me?"

Jefferson smiled and got up to retrieved the two large black cases that held their cellos. "What shall we play, darlin'?"

"What do you think?" Hamilton laughed.

Jefferson looked at him confusedly, handing Hamilton his case, "What do you mean?"Hamilton's gaze flickered over to the second cello case Jefferson had hauled over, not his violin. Jefferson noticed and glanced at his cello, still confused, "What's wrong?" Hamilton remained silent, remembering an interaction they had after Jefferson had lost his memory.

_You were playing._

_Yes, I was._

_What song?_

_Bach._

_Ever play a song called the Impossible Duet?_

_The Impossible what?_

"Do you know the Impossible Duet?" Hamilton asked quietly, scared of the answer.

"The Impossible Duet? I don't think so," Jefferson replied, thinking, "Who is it by?"

"Handel."

Jefferson thought for a moment, "I don't recognize the name but play it for me, I might know the tune."

Hamilton sat down and placed his cello between his knees and shakily picked up his bow. He wasn't sure if his heart could take it if Jefferson didn't remember it, no matter what happened to them, death, life, war, torture, anything, they always remembered that song, it always brought them together. But if Jefferson didn't remember-

Hamilton played the first note, but it was off and shaky, Jefferson shot him a concerned look, "Alexander, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine, just haven't played in a while."

That was a lie if Jefferson ever heard one but he let it slide. Hamilton started over again, this time his notes coming out perfectly. Jefferson listened intently.

This couldn't be...

The same memory played through his mind,

_What song?_

_Bach._

He had lied. He lied that night, he didn't want anyone to know about the song that had been haunting him ever since he woke up, the song that had been driving him insane, driving him to drink to drown it out just for a moment of peace.

The song that made him think constantly of Hamilton.

Hamilton finished the piece and sat for a moment, unable to turn and see Jefferson's face knowing there was every possibility of Jefferson not remembering. Finally, he turned and faced him, "So?"

Jefferson shook off the distant look that had settled over him and looked at Hamilton, "Yes, I know that song," he said softly. Hamilton breathed a sighed of relief. "What is it and why does it haunt me?"

"It's the song that bound us together as we fell through time."

Jefferson nodded, "Okay, let's play it together then."

"You'll need your violin," Hamilton reminded him, "It's a duet for violin and cello."

Jefferson rubbed his neck, "I, ah, burned mine."

"You _what_?"

"It was a long time ago, before we got back together I broke down one night and couldn't handle it so I threw it in my fireplace. Why do you think I haven't played in forever?"

Hamilton plucked at the strings of his cello and sighed, thinking about how he could get a new violin for Jefferson. He had just the one in mind, but he'd have to make a trip to New York.

Jefferson watched Hamilton pluck at the cello strings absentmindedly. "I know the perfect song we can play, it'll be a nice change." If Jefferson was honest, he would say that the Impossible Duet depressed him, it didn't bring back any happy memories of him and Hamilton playing it, just the ones where he was smashing mirrors and throwing alcohol bottles when he first lost his memory and couldn't think of anything else. It had haunted his every step, made him lose sleep, and not to mention his close call, if Madison hadn't been there. He shuddered slightly, no, he had no good memories of that song, it's was why he burned his violin, he was hoping it would make it shut up since playing it hadn't worked.

"What is it?"

"It's called Shape of My Heart, ever heard of it?"

"Yeah, actually, it's the second song I learned, right after the Impossible Duet."

"Same for me. It's a piece for two cellos."

"Another song that I've only ever played half of, it's perfect," Hamilton smiled.

Jefferson returned his smile and opened his own case, pulling his cello out and rosining up the bow. His cello didn't get nearly enough love, but at least he kept it polished and in good condition, no way was he going to let it fall into disrepair.

Jefferson settled onto the couch next to Hamilton and they both began to play. The music was soft and slow and filled the room completely. Jefferson and Hamilton immediately melted into the melody, they could almost feel the Impossible Duet's notes float into the air and begin to burn, the flames licking softly at the pages until they disappeared, floating out of the open window into the night air. It scared Hamilton at first but as the song came to a close he realized he felt something much different.

Jefferson and Hamilton felt free.

**\----**


	69. You're Not the Only One

"Where'd everyone go?" Hamilton asked, walking into his and Jefferson's room.

"They're all at a dinner with the president of the Independent States."

"Really? President Valenzuela? She's here?"

"Yep," Jefferson confirmed.

"I liked her. I hope we'll get to say hello while she's here."

"We'll probably run into each other. She'll be here for several days going over trade agreements and stuff."

"Didn't we get those straightened out with her already? And why would she come herself instead of an ambassador, it's been dangerous around here."

Jefferson shrugged. "I don't know. But wouldn't you or I have done the same?"

"Of course," Hamilton sighed, plopping down onto the bed and stretching out. Jefferson glanced over from his spot on the couch, smiling softly to himself. "What're you doing?" Hamilton asked.

"Reading."

"You should come read over here with me," Hamilton said, pulling out his own book. Jefferson grumbled complaints about how he was comfortable but got up and moved over and flung himself face down on the bed, book still in hand, Hamilton chuckling all the while.

"I'm here. Are you happy?" Jefferson mumbled into the pillow.

"Yes," Hamilton purred, lightly brushing his fingertips down Jefferson's spine while he read, Jefferson shivered from the contact but stayed put.

"What're doing, Alexander?" Jefferson asked, words still muffled by his pillow.

"Reading," Hamilton hummed. "Why?"

"Because you're bothering me," Jefferson replied.

"Am I?" Hamilton smirked, halting his actions. "How about now?" Hamilton asked devilishly right as he pulled on Jefferson's hair, earning a yelp of surprise which only made him grin broader.

Jefferson's head shot up and glared at Hamilton who was now innocently reading his book, hands to himself. Jefferson's response was to steal Hamilton's book and toss it across the room onto the couch and face plant back into his pillow.

"Hey!" Hamilton protested, fixing Jefferson with his own glare as his body shook with silent laughter. Oh, Hamilton was going to shut him up. "Thomas," Hamilton purred, his voice low, heavy and inviting. Jefferson's laughter immediately ceased.

Oh shit.

Hamilton shot out of bed and booked it out the room and ran down the hallway, fleeing before Jefferson could do anything to him. Hamilton wasn't even out the bedroom door when he heard Jefferson's feet hit the ground and start running. Hamilton ran even faster, he grabbed a corner to help him skid around it without losing any speed. Jefferson had outrageously long legs and could catch up easily. Speaking of Jefferson, Hamilton couldn't hear him running after him, where did he go-oh fuck.

Hamilton skidded to a halt and reversed directions, running back the way he came. Jefferson was in the walls. Now it was a game of wits rather than speed. Alright, Hamilton could play that, all he had to do was make it outside and he'd win. Great plan. Hamilton took a sudden right turn, going for the windiest route for the door, one Jefferson would have a hard time keeping up within the walls.

Then every single door in the Manor slammed shut at once and locked.

Oh, that motherfucker. "Real cliche, Thomas!" Hamilton yelled, "You've used that move before, you don't get to use it again!"

Jefferson appeared suddenly out of a wall right in front of Hamilton, "If I can't remember it, it doesn't count," Jefferson grinned impishly. Hamilton veered away from him and kept running. "You can't escape, Alexander!" Jefferson hollered after him, "All the doors are locked!"

"Fuck you!" Hamilton yelled over his shoulder, stopped in front of a window, flung it open, flipped Jefferson off and swung himself out and scaled to the top of the Manor.

"You little shit," Jefferson mumbled, he ran for the window but paused, watching the sky as the sun steadily sunk, moments away from sunset. Jefferson turned back and walked down the hallway.

***

Hamilton was sitting on the roof, leaning back on his hands and enjoying the view laid out before him. Jefferson finally hoisted himself onto the roof after climbing out of the window. "What took so long?" Hamilton teased.

"I made a stop," Jefferson smiled, removing the glass bottle from his mouth and held up two sparkling glasses. "Walls are a bitch to climb with one hand you know."

"I still won," Hamilton hummed as Jefferson plopped down next him and poured two glasses as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky turning that picture perfect champagne orange, streaks of yellow and pink tinting the clouds. Jefferson smiled and handed a glass to Hamilton, and held up his own in toast, "To a bright future of fulfillment and happiness for us and the young nation."

Hamilton clinked his glass to Jefferson's, "May we always be satisfied."

They both drank and watched the sky slowly darken into twilight, arms loosely connecting them. Neither of them could ask for a better moment.

***

Sometime later, when the sky was completely dark and littered with sparkling stars and a shining full moon, Jefferson and Hamilton were laid back on the tiles of the roof, Jefferson's arm around Hamilton's shoulders like a pillow. They were both enjoying the peace when a hatch to the roof opened and two people climbed out. One offered the other a helping hand which they gladly accepted. "Thanks," the person muttered.

After they were both standing, the shorter of the two said, "Are you sure no one will bother us here?"

"Positive. No one comes up here, plus no one knows that passage here except me. You wanted some quiet right? Well, this is the best place for it."

Jefferson could recognize the set of those shoulders, the posture, the stance, and especially the voices that the two possessed. "The only one, huh?" Jefferson spoke suddenly, causing them both to jump, "You forget who designed the place," Jefferson tutted, standing and pulling Hamilton to his feet.

"Sweet Jesus! What're you two doing up here?" Burr asked.

"I could ask you two the same thing," Jefferson quirked an eyebrow, speculating.

"Shove off Thomas, I just needed somewhere quiet to go," Madison said.

"That's how it always starts," Hamilton sighed, "First it's somewhere quiet and then they start bringing tea, and the next thing you're hooked like a drug, whether you like it or not."

"Hey!" Jefferson protested.

"And then suddenly you're fu-"

Jefferson clamped a hand over Hamilton's mouth, "Do you ever stop talking?" Hamilton licked Jefferson's hand in response, Jefferson just gave him a look that said, really? Did you'd really think that'd bother me after what we've done to each other? Hamilton growled.

Madison and Burr just stood there awkwardly, trying their hardest to disappear. Jefferson smeared his hand all over Hamilton's face as Hamilton tried to squirm away, but Jefferson held him fast, right up until Hamilton kicked him the shins.

"Son of a bitch!" Jefferson cussed, relinquishing his hold and limping around slightly.

"You had that coming," Madison smirked.

"Shut up and go fuck your boyfriend," Jefferson shot back. Even with the darkness if night, Jefferson could tell Madison and Burr were blushing hard just from their shiftiness and Madison sputtered response.

"It's not like that," Burr replied easily, finally walking away from the hatch and lying back on the roof. "Just needed some quiet and I know the two of you, more than anyone, can respect that."

Madison followed and laid down a bit of a distance away. Hamilton and Jefferson smirked at each other. "You're absolutely right," Hamilton said, "Come on, Thomas, let's go back inside and see if there are any leftovers from that dinner." Hamilton chose to go inside through the hatch.

"Be right there, darlin'" Jefferson called after him and walked over to the edge of the roof and stood with his back to the empty space that gave way to the ground. He addressed Burr, "I'll make sure no one questions the disappearance of the President," he winked and then let his feet slip off the edge and free fall through the air.

Madison rolled his eyes, know Jefferson's flair for the dramatic all too well, but Burr leaped up and peered over the side just in time to see Jefferson's coat disappear through the window.

**\----**


	70. Oath of Office

"The elections? It's that time already?" Jefferson asked, throwing a newspaper on the coffee table and stalking over to his desk.

"Yep," Hamilton replied without a care in the world, turning a page in his book as he lounged on the couch.

Jefferson snatched some paperwork off his desk, slipped on his reading glasses and stalked over to Hamilton, who immediately lifted his legs so Jefferson could sit and replaced them on his lap. "Just you wait, Alexander, one of these days you'll hate elections just as much as I do."

Hamilton rose an eyebrow, "I thought you were all for a republican form of government? Changing your mind?"

"Don't be idiotic, I just don't like being in them."

"It's not so bad, Thomas," Hamilton chuckled.

"Easy for you to say, your entire life has been about gaining power and influence."

"I think that at this point I can't go any higher unless I wanted to take over the world," Hamilton pointed out.

"You know what people say about reaching your peak," Jefferson smiled.

"Oh shut it," Hamilton threw a throw pillow at him. Jefferson blocked it easily and went back to his paperwork. Hamilton found himself unable to focus on the sentences he was reading and tossed his book aside and sighed, "I miss everyone. I miss Lafayette and Mulligan and Laurens."

Jefferson looked up and smiled softly, entangling his hand in Hamilton's, "Have you texted Lafayette and Mulligan at all since they've been in France? How long has it been? Two years?"

"Three since Lafayette left and four since Mulligan took off on his fashion tour. I would've thought he would have been done by now."

Jefferson chuckled, "Lafayette and Mulligan are very comfortable where they're at. Very comfortable."

Hamilton matched his gaze and grinned, "About bloody time! How long has that been going on?"

"A year?" Jefferson guessed.

"Why didn't I ever hear of this?!"

"I dunno, ask Laf."

Hamilton whipped out his phone and immediately went on rant mood, just like Lafayette had freaked the first time he discovered there was something between him and Jefferson. Meanwhile, Jefferson's thoughts returned to the elections, his gut tightened slightly, there was no doubt that they'd be re-elected, then it'd be another four years of endless, tireless work. As long as he had Hamilton by his side he'd be fine. "Who do you think are going to be the vice presidents?" he asked suddenly.

***

"Congratulations!" Lafayette and Mulligan yelled through the skype call.

Hamilton, Jefferson, Burr, Madison, Peggy, and James Monroe were all gathered in a room celebrating their elections. Jefferson and Hamilton had Burr and Madison pegged as Vice's but Peggy and Monroe were a surprise. They were all laughing and drinking pleasurably.

"Oh!" Lafayette said happily, suddenly remembering something, "There's something I gotta tell you. Big news!"

"Spill!" Hamilton immediately commanded.

"Herc got his memories back!" Lafayette announced, Mulligan grinning semi sheepishly.

"Took you long enough," Burr laughed.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Monroe asked.

"What's this about regained memories?" Peggy asked.

The other six froze, they had completely forgotten about Peggy and Monroe in their drunken state, they had no idea what was going on and the six of them just made a massive slip up.

"Oh, Herc had an accident a while back on his tour. Hit his head pretty hard, something went blank, but now he's got it all back," Jefferson lied smoothly, pretty much swapping his own story for Mulligans. The world still didn't know about Jefferson's memory loss, just his immediate group of friends. They aimed to keep it that way, besides, the only person that could really tell was Hamilton.

Monroe and Peggy nodded, buying the story. "Oh! Jefferson! You get to take the Oath of Office again!" Lafayette shouted, "Aren't you excited."

"You bet," Jefferson said before saying under his breath so only those with their past memories could hear, "Does it count as breaking the law if I serve more than two terms over different lifetimes?" This was technically his fourth term. They all chuckled. "What about you, Alexander?" Jefferson asked.

Hamilton's cheeks immediately colored, "Yeah, definitely," he said smoothly. He had something planned and it was a surprise.

"Well, it's not happening for a while, Burr's and Adams' term still has to finish," Jefferson reminded everyone.

"I never thought I'd be relieved to return to the seat of vice instead of president," Burr commented.

Everyone who remembered the past chuckled. How ironic.

***

"Alexander! What's taking you so long? You're going to make us late to the Oath of Office ceremony!" Jefferson called from outside their bedroom's bathroom door.

"Okay, okay!" Hamilton called, "I'm coming." Hamilton set his hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He would never do this in a million years, but here he was, doing exactly that.

A bet was a bet.

Hamilton swung the door open and emerged with a haughty confidence that only he could pull off. Jefferson stopped dead.

Hamilton was wearing a dress.

Then he burst out laughing. "Alexander, what are you wearing?"

"A dress," Hamilton snapped.

"Okay, but to the Oath of Office? You can't be serious?"

"Look, it was a bet, alright? I forgot about it the first time we were elected in, but I remembered this time and I don't break promises."

"What kind of bet was this?" Jefferson laughed.

"One between you and me. I said if you were ever elected president, you had to answer the White House door in your pajamas. Your reply was that if I was ever elected that I had to take the Oath in a dress. I don't think you were completely serious or you were sure I'd never be elected, but either way, we made a bet. You followed through on your end after the election of 1800, now it's my turn.

Jefferson was grinning broadly, "You know, I have absolutely no memory of this, you could have gotten away with not doing it."

"I never break a promise."

Jefferson stepped forward and pulled Hamilton to him, kissing him deeply. "You look marvelous," he finally said as he broke off the kiss. And he really did, Hamilton wore a dark green that almost bordered black fabric that brought out his eyes brilliantly. It was sleek, formal, and composed, Hamilton commanded it with such an air that no one would be able to say anything against him.

"This makes up for being elected again," Jefferson smirked.

"I will shove my heel in your eye."

As they walked out the door, Hamilton muttered, "I can't believe I have to do this."

**\----**


	71. The Game Isn't Over

"I'd almost forgotten how much work presidency is," Hamilton commented, shifting papers around his desk.

"It's not as heavy as it used to be when we first started, everything isn't three seconds from falling apart," Jefferson pointed out, signing a paper and setting on the stack he would hand over to Hamilton in a little while.

"Still, I don't miss it," Hamilton replied.

Jefferson smirked, "Missing the days when we didn't have to leave the bedroom?"

Hamilton chuckled, "Definitely missing those days."

Jefferson and Hamilton had been hard at work the moment they regained the title of President. They didn't move back into the presidential rooms, they decided to stick to the attic and let Burr keep his room. However, that meant that one of the rooms was empty since Adams retired when he failed at being reelected. Jefferson annoyed Madison about it until he finally moved into it. If anyone was going to be the president next, it would be him. Plus, Jefferson was enjoying the bonus of Burr and Madison constantly being in close proximity coupled with Burr's extensive knowledge of passageways. However, Jefferson and Hamilton did keep the presidential office, there wasn't much of a choice in the matter, the location was central and essential to running things smoothly.

The thing they missed most about having their old rooms was that they were connected to the office so they could easily make it to a bed when they were sleep deprived and ready to keel over. Now they had to stumble all the way back to the attic or just sleep right there on the floor. That actually happened enough that Burr had a couch brought in. Rather thoughtful, really.

The nation was doing extremely well. This made it year ten. The Eastern States were a decade old. So young. Young but stable, the nation was stable, there were no uprisings, debts were getting slowly and steadily paid off, the inner workings of the government was running smoothly. As founders, Hamilton and Jefferson were rather proud.

***

"So what're you planning for the upcoming Presidential Speech?" Peggy asked one night while they were all sitting around the table for dinner.

"We have plans," Hamilton smirked.

"You know, typically, the presidents would recite a pre-written speech," Burr pointed out, hoping to avoid whatever shenanigan they had planned.

"I prefer to use my own words, thank you," Jefferson said, "Besides, we won't do anything too major."

Burr sighed and Madison patted his back as if to say, _Just give up, there's no stopping them, believe me, I've tried._ Burr dropped his head in his hands and massaged his temples, "You two are going to be the death of me," he said and starting picking at his food.

Hamilton came seconds away from retorting that he'd been the death of them but Jefferson laced his hand in Hamilton's under the table, knowing what he been thinking. Hamilton let out a breath and bit back the retort, instead, he leaned over and kissed Jefferson on the cheek. Jefferson kept eye contact with Burr the entire time and then glanced pointedly at Madison. Burr just took another casual bite of food, Madison completely oblivious to what was happening right next to him. Supposedly.

"Thomas, you're not a matchmaker," Hamilton whispered.

"Yes, I am."

Hamilton facepalmed as Jefferson took a drink of his wine, making eye contact with Madison and going through the same process. Luckily, everyone else at the table seemed completely oblivious to what was going on and was having their own pleasant conversations.

"Oh, just leave them be," Hamilton hissed.

"You were just as for it on that rooftop."

"We were alone."

"What does that matter, look at them, their head over heels for each other," Jefferson argued.

"Leave them be to figure it out on their own."

"Fine."

Hamilton slid his hand down Jefferson's leg and drew lazy circles on his inner thigh, "Just worry about our own relationship," Hamilton purred quietly.

Burr was extremely grateful to Hamilton for distracting Jefferson, even though he had no idea what was going on over there since he couldn't hear their hushed words. Jefferson, however, blushed darkly and grasped Hamilton's hand in his own, halting Hamilton's motions, and relaced their fingers. "Don't do that," Jefferson hissed quietly, Hamilton chuckled to himself, returning his attention to his food. That little bastard, two can play that game.

Jefferson freed his hand, and while keeping pleasant appearances, eating his food and conversing with Peggy, he ran his fingertips lightly up Hamilton's thigh. "This is hardly appropriate behavior for a president," Hamilton growled.

"You started it."

"You sound like you're seven."

"Would a seven year old know how to do this?"

Hamilton yelped, hitting his knee on the table, and swearing profusely. Everybody at the table turned and looked at him, his face was flushed, but Jefferson, the asshole, had a forkful of food halfway to his mouth and looking at Hamilton with confusion, copying everyone else's expressions as if he was shocked by Hamilton's sudden outburst as well. "Darin', what's wrong?" he asked innocently.

Oh, Hamilton wanted to stab him with a fork so badly. "Nothing, just remembered something extremely important that I need to do." He folded up his napkin and tossed in on his plate, "If you'll all excuse me." He got up and left the room.

Everyone looked to Jefferson, still slightly started, Jefferson just shrugged, "Hell if I know," he said, taking a bite of food. Everyone else seemed satisfied with the response, but Burr pinned him with a look, Jefferson just grinned back.

"He's gonna fuck something up, I better go after him," Jefferson said, standing from the table and stretching before going after Hamilton at a leisurely pace. That is, until he was out of sight, then he booked it.

**\----**


	72. Place Your Bets

"Cards guys. Really. You should just go with the cards," Burr said, following Hamilton and Jefferson down the hallways as they made their way to their room.

"Dear Lord, give it up, Burr. We're not using the cards," Jefferson groaned.

"We've never used a pre-written speech before and we've done just fine," Hamilton pointed out.

"Sounds like a great time to start," Burr pressed.

"You don't even know what we've got planned," Jefferson commented.

"Which scares me even more. I hate not knowing what you two are up to, there's always a mess for me to clean up afterward."

Hamilton laughed, "I promise we won't make a mess."

"That's what you always say," Burr mumbled.

"Tell you what," Jefferson grinned as he opened the bedroom door, ushered Hamilton inside and stood in the doorway, "If you go make out with Madison right now, I'll read whatever cards you want as long as they're reasonable. Oh, and you gotta have proof."

"Jeffer-"

Jefferson closed the door in Burr's face.

"Think he'll do it?" Hamilton asked.

"Absolutely not."

***

"Here's your speech, memorize it before you're on stage please?" Burr said, handing a stack of cards to an astonished Jefferson. Burr then turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Jefferson standing in shock in the doorway.

"He did it," he said to himself.

"Did what?" Hamilton asked from inside the room.

Jefferson closed the door with a stack of cards in hand, "He actually did it."

Hamilton eyed the cards, "Holy shit. I was wrong. You're a great matchmaker."

"I was wrong. He actually went through with. Picture and everything."

"I guess that means we're going with the cards."

"You know what," Jefferson began, "I bet Burr told him what the deal was and Madison did it just to spite me."

"That does sound like him."

"Goddamnit, and I was so looking forward to what we had planned."

"Next time, Thomas, next time."

***

As Jefferson and Hamilton were working, Jefferson suddenly looked up, "Hey Hamilton,"

"Yes?" Hamilton replied without looking up.

"You wanna dance with me?"

Now Hamilton to looked up, raising an eyebrow, "Dance with you?"

"Yeah."

"We're working."

"So let's take a break," Jefferson said.

"There's no music."

Jefferson reached over and pushed a button and music instantly filled the room. Jefferson stood from his chair and walked over to Hamilton's desk. "How about now?" he asked, holding out his hand.

"I can't believe you had that all set up," Hamilton huffed, taking Jefferson's hand.

"Well, you blew off my last offer," Jefferson said, pulling Hamilton to him and sweeping him across the room.

"You deserved it."

Jefferson scoffed, "It was still the most perfect opportunity wasted."

"You shouldn't have been such a sensitive moron."

"You shouldn't have been such an insensitive prick."

"Asshole."

"Bastard."

***

Jefferson buttoned up his magenta dress shirt and tied a white tie around his neck. "Hamilton! Are you ready?" He called, throwing on a gray vest that matched his pants.

"One moment!" Hamilton emerged wearing a black suit paired with an emerald green shirt. "Damn this thing," Hamilton seethed, trying to tie his tie.

"You're helpless," Jefferson laughed, walking over and tying it for him. "You memorized your part of the speech, right?"

"Of course I did, I'm me," Hamilton said, "Did you?"

"Of course. Are you ready then?"

"Yep. Let's go speak to a nation."

Hamilton and Jefferson met up with Burr, Madison, Peggy, and Monroe downstairs and they all walked to the car together. "Did you memorize the speech?" Burr asked as they climbed into the cars.

"What speech?" Jefferson asked. Burr just stared at him blankly. "Oh! That speech! I decided to wing it after all."

"I swear to God, Jefferson-"

"Oh relax, Burr, of course, I memorized the speech."

"Oh thank God, I was about to strangle you."

***

By the time they arrived, massive crowds were already gathered to hear the presidents address the nation. It was a normal thing for Hamilton and Jefferson, they were used to it by now. As soon as they were in sight, the crowd began to cheer uproariously, individual words being lost in flood to where all it was was noise. A sea of never-ending noise. Jefferson immediately starting waving to everyone and flashing charming smiles.

"Kiss ass," Hamilton muttered.

"Just because they love me more doesn't mean you get to call me names," Jefferson tutted as they walked along.

"I can call you whatever I want," Hamilton said back.

"Aw, don't be jealous, Darlin', my love makes up for it."

"Shut the fuck up or I'll deck you in the face in front of everyone."

"It'd make great publicity. I can almost see the headline, 'Lover Presidents Fighting, Is This the End of the Founding Relationship?'"

"I swear to God, Thomas."

They mounted the steps onto the stage and faced the crowd waving happily. All the vice presidents went off to the side and someone handed Hamilton and Jefferson headsets so the crowd could actually hear them.

Everyone knew by now, going into their fifth year with them as presidents, that their speeches aren't very formal.

"Hello, everyone! Bonjour!" Jefferson greeted, "Now if we could all just quiet down a bit that'd be fantastic." The crowd slowly went quiet. "Thank you."

"Now if we can just have a moment of silence for those who have been lost to battle," Hamilton said, a hush falling over the crowd.

After a minute or so, Hamilton continued, "We had something planned for you, but sadly, it got canceled last minute due to a lost bet," Hamilton informed the audience.

"So we'll be sticking to the cards," Jefferson laughed and the crowd grumbled. They'd come to enjoy Hamilton's and Jefferson's unpredictability. Burr stood in the background, head in hand, shaking it softly.

"Well, there's no point in that," another voice cut in through the speakers, "Cause nothing about this speech is going to go according to plan."

Jefferson and Hamilton whirled around and stood dumbfounded when none other than John Laurens walked out onto the stage, took a bow, and smiled, "Greetings from the other side."

**\----**


	73. King Me

"John," Hamilton breathed.

"Hello, Alexander," John smiled.

"I thought you died," Hamilton whispered, unable to move. Jefferson was in a state of shock, Burr took a step forward but nothing more, Madison was extremely confused, Peggy ran off to keep from breaking down on live television, and Monroe had no idea what was going on.

"No, I didn't die," Laurens said.

"What do you mean? You got shot to death in the raid, they shouted, I saw your body."

Laurens shook his head, "No, Alexander. I got shot for you. I nearly died and that's when it all happened. As I lie there, bleeding to death and in unimaginable pain, well maybe you can imagine it, everything came flooding back."

"No," Hamilton whispered.

"Yeah, first I remembered dying. I remembered lying in the snow, looking at the sky and remembering that night we all were singing around the table. It was so vivid, but I remember now. You and I, we used to be so close. Then I died. But we came back and you knew. You remembered. You knew how I loved you. I still love you."

"John-"

"And you threw me out. For him," John jerked his thumb at Jefferson.

"That's not what happened."

Laurens smiled again, "You guys go strutting around like you're invincible. Like it's all some sort of game. Well..." Laurens drew a pistol and pointed it directly at Jefferson's chest, "King me." and fired.

**\----**


	74. Who is the King?

_I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory._

Because it was. It was a memory for Jefferson. Laurens raised his gun and he suddenly saw Burr's face instead, standing atop a hill, smoke curling from his pistol as he screamed "Wait!" but it was too late. The bullet had already torn its path. There was nothing to be done. He vaguely heard Hamilton cry out. So vivid, it was as if he were actually there and not just reliving it.

And every other memory came flooding back too.

_I'm so sorry, Alexander, I guess this means I'll have broken the same promise twice now._

The hill morphed back into a stage and the river became the people that were watching this happen from below once more. Jefferson staggered, folding in slightly on himself. He remembered everything.

Screams were breaking out but Burr's face was still there, in fact, it was all Jefferson could see.

Burr looked at Jefferson, his hand came away bloody from his chest.

"Burr..."

"I think this makes us even," Burr rasped, smiling a benign and true smile before he collapsed to the ground.

Madison screamed.

Jefferson was in shock. He wanted to kneel to Burr but he was running out of time.

Laurens was wheeling for Hamilton, readying his aim as Hamilton also stood frozen in shock. Laurens went pale, his entire body shaking uncontrollably as he stared at his hand, the gun thudding to floor. What had he done? He-he tried to kill Jefferson, the intent to kill Hamilton. That wasn't him, it was never him. Another dull thud as Laurens collapsed to his knees, staring at the evil deed before him.

If only it had ended there.

Impatient, angry footsteps hit against the stage as yet another person joined the party. A person who turned Jefferson's and Hamilton's blood cold. Unlike the newcomer, who sneered at them all, their feet were frozen in place.

None other than Jimmy Matthews scooped up Laurens fallen pistol. "Honestly, you can't even do one thing right," he said, raising it level to Hamilton.

It was too much for Jefferson. After everything Hamilton and Jefferson had gone through, this was too much. Another pistol leveled with Hamilton. All that Hamilton could bring himself to do was to turn sideways, a muscle memory movement from dueling, he was trying to make himself a smaller target. No. Jefferson would never allow Hamilton to die when he was standing only five feet away and had the ability to stop it. Jefferson's gleaming pistols were in his hands. He was the god of those pistols. Nothing could ever stop him while he had them. His entire life with Hamilton flashing in his mind.

"Don't do this," Hamilton choked out, raising his hand as if he could stop the bullet with his hand. Defenseless. He'd allowed himself to become defenseless. After everything they went through, it was in the moment that it mattered most that Hamilton do anything except pray.

He'd never done that before.

A flash of silver as Jefferson aimed. He'd be damned if he was going to let Laurens kill Hamilton. Not even enough time to blink between his draw and his pulling the trigger. The recoil rocked through his body.

Matthews fired a second later.

The silver gun slipped from Jefferson's limp hand and thudded to the ground.

Jefferson missed.

Matthews didn't.

The bullet tore through the air, smashing Hamilton's ribs apart through his right side. He fell like a sack of bricks.

Jefferson couldn't move. He couldn't scream. He couldn't do anything except replay what just happened over and over again. His head ached and the world spun as every happy moment he just remembered spending with Hamilton went colorless and dull. Hamilton was gone.

Then Madison was there, scooping up Jefferson's fallen pistol. If Jefferson weren't so suddenly cast into the lethal water of a frozen over lake, he might have noticed the killer intent.

It was him that finally downed Matthews. It was him that smashed the gun into Laurens' head, him who didn't flinch at the limp way Laurens went down. It was him that stooped over Burr and held his face in his hands. And it was him that started shouting commands for help. Not Jefferson.

Jefferson was the one who ran to Hamilton, even if Hamilton wasn't moving. Jefferson drew his second pistol, walked over to where Matthews was crawling across the ground, blood seeping from between his fingers where Madison had shot him in the gut. Jefferson stepped on his back, pinning him to the ground, a cry of pain. Jefferson aimed, "This isn't checkers, the game has always been chess."

Matthews laughed, "Yeah, well, you lost, I just shot the king."

"You fucking idiot. The king isn't a person, the king is posterity. Hamilton and I are pawns turned queens."

"You're going to lose. King George is going rule again."

"I've already lost but that doesn't mean I can't keep you from winning. If we go down, you and King George and the rest of the Govey empire is coming with us."

"You're going to hell," Matthews spat.

"I've said this before, you bet I am and I plan on ruling, so I look forward to seeing you there."

Jefferson knew that Hamilton wouldn't want it to end this way. Jefferson knew that he should at least get an explanation. Jefferson knew that if he pulled the trigger he would never forgive himself, Hamilton would never forgive him.

But Hamilton was dead and Jefferson was never going to forgive himself for missing anyway.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Only for another pair of feet to walk onto the bloodied stage and Jefferson's gut writhed with rage. Another person for him to shoot. King George walked across the stage, elegantly avoiding staining his shoes. He stopped in front of Jefferson, he blues eyes piercing.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you right now," Thomas snarled.

The king's gaze drifted down to Matthews. "Sire," he gasped, believing he was saved. "I have reclaimed your-" The king's foot smashed into his face.

"Because you're a gormless wazzock who's dead from the neck up. You're listening to me this time."

**\----**


	75. Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot

There was more to the plot than they thought. It wasn't just a homicidal Laurens bent on murdering the presidents, backed by the man Jefferson swore to never forget was connected to the entire Govey rebellion. Things were not so clear in life. When one thinks one knows it all, one turns to find they know nothing at all after all.

But Jefferson had more important things to see to. Hamilton.

That evening, when the doctors kicked Madison and Jefferson out of the hospital, Jefferson went to visit Matthews. Well, he says visit but it was more of an interrogation. They sat in a room, Matthews with all sorts of different bandages around his abdomen, out of everyone, he got off the luckiest.

Everytime Jefferson so much as looked at the guy, his mouth got a terrible taste and every horrid torture memory flashed through his mind. Ending with Hamilton collapsing.

"Why?" Jefferson asked, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against his chair, using every ounce of self-control he had not to strangle the man right there.

"What do you mean why? Isn't it obvious?"

"No."

Matthews laughed, "I never realized it before but now that I look back, it all became clear. You and Hamilton, you two are the real villains of this story. Always have been. Starting revolts? Creating anarchy? Throwing peace out of the window? You literally rigged the system so you two would be the ruling powers. It was always set up so that you'd come out on top, wasn't it? Screw the rest of us as long you and your precious _Alexander_ could remain together forever. Well fuck you, I took that from you, I took your King. I won. Ha! And now there's only one king left in play."

Jefferson stood suddenly, the chair launching back across the room from the sudden momentum. He was about half a second away from launching at him and literally tearing the heart from his chest when the pale, regal hand of Fredericks laid on his shoulder. "Tut tut, Thomas, what have we discussed?"

"Wake up and see the truth Jefferson, you two couldn't last four years of not being in the spotlight. Things didn't go your way? Things get a little boring? Blow something up, that's always been your solution. Face it. Alexander is your King, cry all you want about posterity but you're the one who can't function without him. Look at you, you're pathetic, you haven't washed Burr's and Alexander's blood from your clothes. Your eyes are bloodshot. Your King is gone, you lost. You lost at your own game. How's that feel?"

"Alexander isn't dead!"

"And so he admits it."

"I think this has gone on long enough," Fredericks soothed easily. "Matthews, despite your claim that this was all for me and my cause, and how you know everything of everyone, you are rather blind. Even more so than Thomas here, and that's saying something."

Jefferson growled, "This isn't your place King."

"No, but it was, until you ran off and made amuck of things. I tried to tell you. But did you listen? No. I had to go find someone a little more willing to look past old grudges. At least Adams was smart enough for that."

Jefferson sneered.

"Explain to me how I have disappointed your Magisty," Matthews pleaded. "I was winning your war."

Fredericks shook his head. "It was never my war. This," he gestured around, "Was caused by the other bigoted arseholes who ruled alongside me. My hand is found no where but in the efforts of trying to keep this nation from turning entirely to ash. Homophobic? Me? No. I believe those sparks of individuality is the most important part of a nation. I've been in the background, trying to _prevent_ the chaos befallen to us. The war, unnecessary. The second war, unnecessary. The reform of a nation. Completely necessary. If _someone_ had taken a step past passed occurrences, everything would have been sorted with a lot less blood spilled."

Fredericks turned to Jefferson. "Don't kill him, he has information we need." Then the king swept from the room, a person Jefferson had not expected him to be. Most likely to return home to his husband.

***

Jefferson went home. He went to Alexander who was barely hanging on. When he entered the hospital room, Alexander was barely keeping his eyes open as the doctor started to explain his condition. Jefferson sank down into the chair next to Hamilton and grasped his hand.

"The bullet entered his right side," the doctor address Jefferson since he was there, "right between the ribs. It tore through his esophagus and struck his spine."

"It's a mortal wound, doctor," Hamilton announced. The doctor looked at him sadly. "I can't feel my legs."

Jefferson's grip tightened on Hamilton's hand. After all this time, after all of Jefferson's sacrifices and attempts, the bullet that had always been destined for Hamilton finally caught up to him. It didn't matter that he was wearing Jefferson's specially designed Kevlar. It didn't matter they were always armed. It didn't matter because they never planned for someone who knew all their habits to betray them, for someone who loved them and fought with them to use special armor-piercing bullets just to bring them down. They expected anyone but Laurens. Anyone but him.

"Tell Burr I'm sorry."

"Of course," Jefferson promised. Burr didn't even make it to the hospital. "Of course I'll tell Burr."

"Can you hear it, Thomas?"

"Yes, yes I can hear it."

"The Impossible Duet."

"Our life story."

"Thomas, no matter what happens, you have to-"

"Alexander?"

"Alexander?"

"Alexander goddamnit speak to me!"

" _Alexander!"_

The Impossible Duet played itself out for the last time.

Angry hot tears rolled down his face as he screamed bloody murder and began smashing hospital equipment. No one dared do anything to stop him. He swiped the tears from his face and stalked out of the room, a man on a mission. Only Madison saw the gleaming silver pistols in his hand when Jefferson passed him in the hallway.

Madison turned a blind eye. Perhaps he would've done something, if not for his own actions.

Jefferson busted through the door, "Well, if it isn't-"

_BANG_

Matthews slid to the floor and Jefferson closed the door behind him as he left.

**\----**


	76. Consequence

"It wasn't his fault," Jefferson said, looking at the gravestone. There was nothing else with such a finality than a gravestone. A name, stark numbers carved to tell the world it had been too short. Not enough time, never enough time. Nothing could be done for him now except pray the history books were kind.

_**John Laurens** _

"Matthews got him when he was weakest. Wounded. Mind weak and vulnerable after freshly regaining his memories. He didn't stand a chance," Jefferson went on.

"I know," Hamilton whispered.

Jefferson reached down, lacing their hands together. John Laurens was found murdered in his cell, much in the same fashion as Matthews had been. Only instead of a bullet to the head, it was a knife dragged across the vulnerable throat. Before any trial. Before he even had a chance to explain himself. Who was the one to do such a thing was unknown, there had been...other concerns.

Madison turned, nodded to Jefferson and Hamilton and walked away from the site. The two of them were the last to remain. All the others had gone home long before.

In Hamilton's opinion, it was much too sunny for such an occasion. "Take me home, Thomas."

"Of course, my love." Jefferson bent down and softly kissed his head, placing Hamilton's flowers gently on the grave before grips the handles and wheeling Hamiltons out of the graveyard. Over the lumpy ground covered in the lush grass so well nourished by what lay beneath.

Funny, how you don't notice those things until you've lost someone. Or can no longer walk.

**\----**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falling Through Time: Basking in Starlight: Book 3: Coming Eventually


End file.
